


The Secret Life of a Black Dog

by Malebron



Series: Sirius, Rising. [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Romance, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:29:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3722095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malebron/pseuds/Malebron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve Grimmauld Place; Early summer 1996. Sirius Black is on the brink of self-destruction, when an unwanted and uninvited guest is foisted upon him. He just wants her to go away and leave him in peace, but she's got a job to do and she won't let a bad-tempered wizard bully her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Uninvited Guest

**Author's Note:**

> This is a parallel story to 'Dark Birthright' but can be read on its own.  
> I'm not a fan of 'songfics' but this was definitely inspired by the Nick Lowe/Johnny Cash song "The Beast in Me".

* * *

**"Sirius! _Sirius!"_**

**Someone was shaking his shoulder**. As the action became more insistent and annoying, so did the voice. " _Sirius!_ For Merlin's sake, wake _up_!" Irritated, he swatted at the arm shaking him.

"Right, that's it!" The voice had become loud by this time. Female, definitely, and very cross. A sensation of icy cold suddenly enveloped him.

_Dementors?_ he thought for a split second, and groggily raised his head. He focused on what he saw before him; a pair of hands holding a chipped and stained enamel bucket. Probably just one, although he could not be entirely sure. He realised with surprise that he was dripping wet, and looked beyond the hands. He blinked and squinted until an angry-looking red-headed woman came, more or less, into view.

"Molly? What the fuck? Did you throw a bucket of water over my head?"

"Yes, Sirius, I did! Wake up and _pay attention_! I've got something important to tell you. Are you listening to me?"

"Urgh," he grunted.

She gave a loud sigh of impatience. "Someone is coming here to the house later on today. A woman. Her name is Julia, and Albus has asked her to come. I don't know what she is supposed to be doing, but it has got something to do with you. Will you give her this note when she gets here. Please?" She shoved a piece of paper across the table towards him.

He viewed it with disinterest and did not bother to pick it up. "Uh?"

Molly huffed in irritation. " _Please_ remember who you are, Sirius, and try to be civil when she arrives. I have made a bed up in the room that Harry and Ron used at Christmas. Have you got that?"

"Hnng."

Molly folded her arms and scowled at him. "You need a wash. You've dribbled all over the table. And you smell. You're disgusting!" She put a hand on his shoulder and firmly turned him to face to her. He peered at her, wondering why his kitchen was foggy. She looked into his eyes and her expression softened.

Sirius did not know what Molly had seen there, that made her look so bloody sorry for him, but he knew he wanted no one else to ever see it. He laid his cheek back on the table and closed his eyes with relief.

"Oh, Sirius," she said, in despair. "You can't go on like this, you're killing yourself! You've got to sort yourself out. For Harry, if nothing else."

_Bossy bloody woman_ he thought wearily. Harry was taking exams at the moment. He would not see him for weeks. He fell asleep again.

.

At some point during the day he must have shifted the location of his repose from the kitchen to the drawing room, because when he woke later on, his face lay in a wet patch of drool on the perished velvet of a chaise-longue instead of the scoured timber of the kitchen table. It was getting dark, his mouth tasted vile and his head ached. What had woken him? He tried to collect his fuzzy thoughts.

In the distance, he could hear the multitude of locks and chains on the front door rattle and click. Ah yes, he remembered. His unwanted visitor must be here.

Although he would have preferred not to move, he supposed he had better show her to her room. He did not want her wandering about the vast, derelict labyrinth of a house all night. It would be best if he knew where she was. He stretched uncomfortably, flexed his fingers which had pins and needles in them and wiggled his neck to get rid of a painful crick. With a distinct lack of enthusiasm, he wandered down the passage towards the ground floor.

From below, he heard the shrill sibilance of Kreacher's voice, and someone gave a sharp exclamation of alarm. Inwardly, he groaned. What was the bloody elf doing there? Four-legs would be better, he decided on impulse. At least he would be relieved of any obligation to be polite or sociable.

He trotted downstairs and came up behind Kreacher who was squatting on the bottom landing. The elf was hissing his vitriolic spleen at a bedraggled woman who appeared to be stuck halfway up the stairs with one foot tangled in the rotten carpet.

Padfoot hated Kreacher with an immeasurable passion and the sentiment was fully reciprocated. He wrinkled his lip, bared his teeth and growled threateningly at the elf, allowing slobber to gather in the corners of his mouth and drip on to the floor for emphasis. The wrinkled elf scampered off with a shrill cackle, but his action had the unintentional effect of further terrifying the unfortunate woman. She shouted out in fear and fell backwards, getting her hand twisted into the banister and crying with pain.

He felt bad about that, although he did not understand what had frightened her. He was not growling at _her_ for goodness' sake! With dreary predictability, the curtains on Walburga's portrait swept open and it started to screech its customary vile insults. He was powerless to stop himself barking, but he knew it would not help in the least.

Keen to get away from the noise, he waited impatiently for the woman to get back to her feet and follow him, but she did not seem to understand what to do. He wondered if she was, perhaps, not very clever; but eventually, the penny dropped.

"Am I to follow you, then?" she said. She climbed the stairs towards him. "Does it ever shut up? I'm getting a headache now."

Padfoot sympathised, and he liked the sound of her voice. It was low pitched and musical, and gave him a pleasant sensation along his back. As soon as he could, he would come back and deal with the portrait. Checking that the woman was keeping up behind, he led the way upstairs and along the second floor corridor to the bedroom at the end. He waited for her as she lit the candles with a small thing she took from her pocket. Perhaps she had lost her wand? He would have liked to stay longer, but Walburga was still howling in the hall.

.

His mother had never taken any notice of what he said during her lifetime, and things were no better now. Being drunk did not help. It slowed his reflexes, and half the time he could not even remember spells properly. It must have been twenty minutes before the blasted thing capitulated and stopped at last. Tired again, he sank down on to a step, and sat on something uncomfortable. A shrunken house-elf head that had fallen off the wall stared at him from milky, lifeless eyes. With distaste he picked it up and dropped it into the troll's-foot umbrella stand at the bottom of the stairs. It landed with a clink on top of the several empty bottles already deposited there.

.

Had he eaten today? He could not remember. He rather fancied another drink, but instead he ambled upstairs on four legs. In a derelict apartment at the back of the house was a bathroom that had not been used for donkey's years, and which generally yielded a satisfactory harvest of rats. Over the next hour, he dispatched several, ate a couple and took the rest to an appreciative Buckbeak. Still unsatisfied, he wandered back to the guest bedroom to check that his visitor was still there. He thought so, but scratched at the door to make sure. She appeared surprised to find him there.

"Dog? Are you coming in?" Glad of the invitation, he wagged his tail in gratitude.

He had not intended to stay long but she seemed genuinely happy to see him, and somehow she pinpointed the itchy spot on the back of his neck that he could never quite reach. He grunted in exquisite pleasure.

"I could use a friend," she said. She got back into bed and he climbed up beside her.

He sniffed at her. She smelled mmm . . . like woman, with overtones of soap and no perfume. He approved. A friend. _Oh, yes._

He felt sorry for her, being lonely in a strange house. Staying with her for a while would be a kind thing to do. Padfoot liked to be kind sometimes. He did not often get the chance.

She was nursing her wrist as if it hurt. He licked at the hot and swollen joint, and wondered why she did not fix it. She must have lost her wand after all. He licked a bit more and she sighed with relief. That pleased him. He rested his head on her belly, listening to the soft noises inside. She scratched his neck again.

It was nice to have company for a change, and he stayed beside her, her fingers tangled loosely in his shaggy coat, until it began to get light. Then he quietly eased himself off the bed and went down to the kitchen.

.

 


	2. A Muggle, Damn it!

 

**Sirius heard her coming** down the basement steps sometime after daybreak, and in silence watched her enter the cavernous room.

The first thing that struck him was her height. Hardly over five feet tall, she would barely reach his shoulder. He leaned against the range and waited for her to notice him.

She started slightly when she saw him. Her eyes were a warm hazel colour. Pretty. And she was not a girl; she must have been in her late twenties, perhaps even thirty.

She smiled politely at him. "Oh, excuse me! I was hoping to make some tea?"

"Feel free," he said rudely, "just don't expect me to do it for you." Was she waving a teabag around? He wondered if she had brought more.

He saw her eyes widen in shock. Abruptly, she sat down on one of the rickety chairs. "Oh my goodness. You're Sirius Black!"

_Amazing,_ he reflected. _Dumbledore's found a real bright spark here._

Surprisingly, she laughed, although he was almost sure he detected an underlying note of hysteria.

"So you're the psychopathic murderer and criminal mastermind behind the mass break out from Azkaban? You don't look much like one."

"Like what?" he asked, indignant. "A mass murderer, or a criminal mastermind?"

"Well either," I suppose," said the woman. "Not that I'm altogether sure what one does look like, you understand. But I might have expected something a little more impressive and – well – scary, you know."

Sirius found himself disproportionately annoyed. It had never been an overriding ambition of his to look like a criminal mastermind but he had the impression that she considered him not even capable of being one. _Stupid woman. What the hell did she know about anything?_

He snarled at her.

She looked alarmed and he watched her hand inch towards a large brass candlestick. He wondered if she would actually try and bash him with it. Then she pulled her hand back and startled him by saying, "I don't believe a word of it, and don't try to bully me."

_Bully!_ What did she mean by that?

She stood up and came over to him. "I'm Julia, by the way. Pleased to meet you." She held out her hand and winced.

He made no attempt to respond to the gesture. "What's wrong with your hand?"

"Oh." she looked embarrassed. "I thought you might have heard the noise when I arrived last night. I experienced some difficulty with the stair carpet. Then your house elf was extremely unpleasant, and the portrait behind the curtains in the hall started to shout. Then I thought your dog was going to eat me, and then I fell down the stairs and that woman in the painting shouted at me even more. Awful things too. That portrait is truly horrible!"

"That's my mother," said Sirius, wondering how the information would be received.

"Oh Lord!" she said, blushing and sitting down again in haste. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realise."

He enjoyed her discomfiture for a moment then explained. "She was a bitch when she was alive and death hasn't improved her temperament." It pleased him to see an expression of unhappy confusion cross Julia's face. "Molly Weasley left you a note." He shoved it across the table from where it had been left the previous day.

She opened it and read aloud. " _'I'm so sorry I can't be there to meet you and show you round, but Albus says the less anyone knows about whatever it is you're doing, the better. You will find the Muggle plumbing works well enough without magic. Sometimes there is even hot water. I'm afraid you won't get much of a welcome, but try not to mind Sirius too much. His bark is worse than his bite, if you know what I mean. Good luck! Molly x.'_ His bark is worse than his bite if you know what I mean," repeated Julia. She looked up at him. "What does she mean? Do you bite?"

He snorted. "Only when provoked. But what does she mean by saying the Muggle plumbing is working. You aren't - are you?"

"If you mean, 'You aren't a Muggle, are you?' then yes," she said, "I'm a Muggle. Not a magic bone in my body. But don't underestimate me, Sirius. Really. Don't."

_A Muggle, damn it! Was Dumbledore out of his mind?_ He had some faint satisfaction in imagining what his mother might have to say about this. It helped a little. "Give me your hand."

She was obviously reluctant. In all honesty, he did not blame her. "You can't leave it like that," he said, trying to be patient. "I can fix it for you."

She looked worried, but held her hand out to him. He took hold of it, aware of a certain responsibility for its condition. The joint was red, swollen and hot, and looked very sore. Beneath the swelling, her wrist felt slender and fragile. He would be able to break it with his bare hands if he had a mind to. Her hand was a capable looking one though, the nails short and neatly trimmed. No vanity in this woman, then. He could not help noticing the contrast between his big bony hand with rough calluses on the palms, and her smaller, smooth one. She had been chewing her thumbnail; it was ragged at the corners. He rather liked that sign of vulnerability. It belied the intimidatingly determined set of her jaw.

With relief, he observed that his own hands were not visibly shaking and he thought his head was just about clear enough to do the spell and get it right first time. He had a lot of practise in fixing minor injuries. About the only useful sort of magic he ever did these days involved repairing his own self-inflicted wounds.

He flicked his wand and muttered the spell under his breath. He had got it right, _thank Merlin._ She looked at the wrist in amazement and turned her face to him with a delighted smile. For a moment he struggled to breathe.

"Thank you", she said. "That was very kind."

He was not going to make small talk. "No it wasn't, I don't need an invalid here. In fact it's inconvenient to have you here at all. I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking."

The smile faded and was replaced by hurt annoyance. It was a familiar look and he felt more comfortable with it.

Her voice was sharp. "Perhaps he thought you'd be glad of the company."

"I don't need company, I like being alone," he said.

She seemed unconvinced. She was studying him and he remained immobile although the urge to fidget was strong. She did not have the same expression of disdain and faint disgust he had become used to getting from Molly. In fact she showed every indication of being quite interested in him and he became unexpectedly aware of what he must look like. Since he generally spent most of his days not wearing any clothes at all, when he did feel it necessary to wear something, it tended to be the first thing that came to hand, regardless of what it was or where he found it. He doubted that he was looking his best.

"I met your dog last night," she said.

_Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!_ What the hell had possessed him? If he had been able to, he would have kicked Padfoot's arse, because if anything was certain, it was that now he could not possibly tell this woman the truth. The humiliation would be unbearable.

"So I believe. His name is Padfoot. Or Snuffles."

"Snuffles!" she exclaimed. "You can't call such a dignified beast a silly name like Snuffles!"

Privately, he agreed.

"If you don't mind my saying"-

Oh yes, he recognised that tone. The nagging started here. He was on familiar territory now.

"Your dog, Padfoot," she said. "I like him very much. He is certainly the most intelligent animal I have ever known, but I have to say, he doesn't look very well cared for. He deserves better. In fact you don't look terribly well cared for yourself. Are you eating properly? And what are you feeding him? I bet you don't give him decent dog food."

"Mainly," said Sirius, "he eats rats."

"Rats!" She looked horrified. "My god, that dog slept on my bed last night! And he's been eating rats?"

Sirius smirked. "Did he, now?"

"That means . . ." She went pale. "That means there are rats in this house! Bloody hell, are there many rats in this house?"

"Not any more," said Sirius, cultivating an unhappy expression. "Padfoot already ate most of them. That's why he's getting thin."

He was pleased to see that seemed to have shut her up for the time being. Without giving her any time to recover, he made himself scarce and went to his mother's old room to check on Buckbeak. In the dim recesses of his mind, he seemed to recall leaving half a bottle of wine in there a day or two ago.

A little later he heard the front door close and he looked out of the window to see her walking away up the street. Perhaps she had given up and gone home, he thought hopefully. But an hour or so later, he heard her return.

He thought she was trying to do something in the kitchen. He was glad to hear frequent curses and sporadic thumps as if she was kicking something. _Probably the range,_ he thought, having had multiple occasions to kick it himself. Had he allowed himself to, he might have felt the slightest twinge of guilt when he thought she was actually crying tears of frustration in there; but he did not permit himself that weakness.

.

Later in the afternoon, Padfoot called into the kitchen to see what she had been doing and found it deserted, but a bowl sat on the floor which had not been there earlier. He investigated. What was _that?_ Oh. _Ooohh._ It smelled divine. Rich, meaty, tempting, brown and juicy. He made no attempt to resist.

It. Was. Delicious. He was so fed up with eating rats. If there was a faintly bitter aftertaste in his mouth, it was still better than the taste of rat. He licked the sides of the bowl in case he had missed any before going back upstairs.

.

Not wishing to engage in further pointless conversation with his unwelcome guest, Sirius waited until he had heard Julia go to her room, and when she appeared to be staying put, he went down to the kitchen. There was something on the table, covered with a cloth. He lifted the corner and looked underneath. It was a plate of sandwiches. He prodded them. Still fresh.

He took the top slice of bread from one and studied the filling with interest. There was cheese and ham and tomatoes and pickle and some crispy green leaves. He had not eaten anything resembling a vegetable since January and his mouth watered.

Almost before he knew what he was doing he had consumed the lot and looked at the empty plate in surprise. That would give entirely the wrong impression, he realised. He did not want her to think she was being in any way useful.

.

.

Padfoot thought he should check up on Julia again. The Sirius part of him tried to explain why that was not a good idea, but he ignored it. They were quite good at ignoring each other when they chose.

Julia seemed pleased to see him again. He rested his head on her lap while she combed her fingers through his coat and pulled out a few tangles. "Did you like your dinner, Sweetie? We'll have you sleek and shiny in no time! He's a grumpy sod, your master, isn't he? Very bad tempered. I don't think he likes me."

Padfoot wondered at that, in his doggy way. Sirius was bad-tempered, yes, but did he actually dislike her? It was a bit too complicated to think about, and he turned over so that Julia could rub his belly instead.

"Are you here for the night then?" she asked. "Won't Sirius miss you? He'll be lonely."

That was nice of her, he thought, to worry about Sirius. He wished he was able to reassure her. Sweetie. She had called him Sweetie. He wanted her to do it again.

.

 


	3. A Trying Day

**Sirius felt distinctly** unsettled and bloated next morning. He had thought that wine tasted a bit off yesterday. Perhaps he should not have drunk it, but he hated waste.

Julia was already in the kitchen by the time he felt up to going in there. She was looking at the huge range with trepidation. If he had not been feeling slightly nauseous, he might have taken some pleasure in that. He must have been looking bad because she seemed concerned and asked him if he was all right.

 “I hope you don’t mind, Sirius,” she said, “but I bought some proper dog food for Padfoot. I took the liberty of putting some worming tablets in it too. I’m very pleased to see he ate it all. Have you seen him this morning?  I think it can have a slightly laxative effect but he’ll be fine.”

He inwardly digested what she had said with disbelief _. Worming tablets!_ The idiotic, half-witted female!

“You really are the most stupid, interfering woman!” he yelled. “Bloody hell! Don’t think you’ve heard the last of this! Merlin’s Beard!”

He would have said more but his stomach rumbled alarmingly. He beat a hasty retreat and spent a fairly unpleasant few hours confined to barracks upstairs.

 

Admittedly, later on, he felt rather better than he had done for some time. And he was hungry. Very hungry. He went downstairs to the kitchen again. Julia was in there. He noticed she had been rearranging things and he felt rather resentful.

“I’m going to feed you this evening,” she said.

That sounded faintly promising, but he did not want her to see his interest was piqued.

“I don’t know that I fancy Muggle food,” he said truthfully.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped. “I’m not going to poison you! Don’t be so churlish. Believe it or not I’m a good cook, and I’ve eaten enough wizard food to know that you people haven’t got the monopoly on fine cuisine. And for someone who lets his dog eat rats, and looks as if he probably eats rats himself, I suggest you don’t criticise. And if you don’t mind me saying”-

 _Here we go again,_ he thought. He wondered why it was that women always seemed to start nagging when they got older.

“– you are starting to smell as if you eat rats too. I happen to know the plumbing in this house, though admittedly crude and rudimentary, is perfectly functional, so I’ll do a deal with you. I’ll cook you a meal if you have a bath. And clean your teeth”.

He was speechless.

“And unless you have been doing a lot of entertaining recently, which I have to say seems a bit unlikely,” she added, “you are drinking too much. There are thirty seven empty wine bottles in the scullery.”

He began to hyperventilate. “Keep your fucking nose out of my fucking business!”

“Ooh!” she shuddered. “I love to hear a posh bloke swear. Do it again!”

He stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door on his way out. He heard the handle fall off behind him.

 

Posh? _Was he?_

And how dare she! _How bloody dare she?_ This stupid, ignorant Muggle woman coming into his house. _His house!_ And presuming to criticise him. _Him!_ _Sirius Black!_

And thirty seven _had_ to be an exaggeration, surely? For a moment he pictured the empty bottles she had not seen; in the troll’s foot umbrella stand; in the Chinese camphor blanket box on the third floor landing; inside the grand piano in the drawing room; under his mother’s bed. . .

Cautiously, he sniffed his armpit and wondered if she might have a point. He tried to recall when he had last taken a bath and could not. _Around Christmas time, probably,_ he thought.

 

A little later, partially submerged in warm water, he observed his nether regions with vague interest. It had been a long time since he had even thought to look in that direction. Everything seemed thankfully intact, but did it all still work? He had no idea. He played with himself a bit and tried to imagine naked women doing various unspeakable things to him, but nothing happened and after a few minutes he became bored and gave up.

 _How long was it now?_ he thought. Fourteen years – fifteen!- since he had felt a woman’s arms around him? For some seconds the familiar feeling of anger he so carefully nurtured was replaced by sadness.

Eventually, when he could no longer be bothered with reheating the water, he got out and dried himself. He wiped the grimy mirror with the corner of an equally dirty towel and looked at himself.

 _In for a knut, in for a sickle,_ he thought, and began to trim his whiskers.

He found a pair of jeans that appeared to be moderately clean and intact and wandered down to the basement. He was not unimpressed to find that Julia had managed to coax the range into life. Sometimes the damn thing was uncooperative, even with magical assistance. The air was rich with the smell of baking and something savoury that simmered gently in a saucepan on top. He felt almost – almost – happy, just for a moment.

Julia’s eyes widened noticeably and gratifyingly when she saw him. She was staring, in fact, and seemed to be fascinated by his tattoos. Perhaps they were useful for something after all.

She licked her lips with a small, wet, pink tongue. He was pretty sure she had not even realised what she had done, but quite unexpectedly he felt it in his dick as if she had licked him there, and experienced a reassuring rush of blood to his groin. He began to get hard. This was something of a relief, and as she appeared to be slightly interested, he thought he might try his luck.

“Do you want to see a bit more?” he asked, giving her what he believed was a winning smile and unfastening the button on his jeans. Her face turned a very fetching shade of pink.

He could not help grinning at her as she turned away in confusion, muttering, “I’ve seen quite enough for now. Just get dressed, why don’t you.”

 _One all,_ he thought cheerfully and wandered off to find some more clothes.

Before long, he found himself back in there. It seemed more appealing, somehow, than any other room in the house at the moment. It must be because it was warmer. He sat down at the table and she wordlessly passed him a mug of tea. Surprised, he gave a quick nod of thanks. She turned away and busied herself with her saucepan. That left him free to watch her back, unobserved. She had quite a trim little figure, he thought with approval. A pretty curve to her hips. Her brown hair formed little curls just below the nape of her neck, and was held back sensibly at the sides with simple clips. Her movements were economical and competent.

She turned and put something on the table in front of him. He could hardly believe his eyes, and he salivated. Bread, crusty and hot out of the oven. Without a moment’s thought he hacked a chunk off, slathered it with butter (she had bought butter!) and stuffed it into his mouth. It was the best thing that had happened to him for months. She raised her eyebrows but said nothing. As she ladled the stew out into two bowls, he helped himself to more bread.

He started to eat. There were chunks of tender meat in a rich gravy with vegetables, potatoes and were those -? They were! Dumplings! He bit into one, taking the time to chew rather than just swallowing as fast as he could. It was soft in his mouth and it had been seasoned with some sort of herb. He felt the warm flavour at the back of his throat and grunted in pleasure.

When he slowed down enough to lift his gaze for a second, he noticed her staring at him with an expression of alarm. It occurred to him that he could have been eating rather fast. He half thought he might have been making a lot of noise too. Did he care? He was a little surprised to find that in fact, he did.

Shaking her head with a slight, rather superior and annoying little smile on her face, she scraped the last of the stew into his bowl. He cut himself another slice of bread to soak up the juice, surprised to see that there was only a crust left.

 

He sat at the table, comfortably replete, belched quietly, and observed her rear as she washed up. There was a distinctly resentful set to her shoulders and she seemed to be making an unnecessary amount of noise. He privately admired the shape of her arse and when she stretched to reach a shelf he caught a brief glimpse of her midriff.

She was in a bad temper by the time she left the kitchen. _Good,_ he thought. _Perhaps she’ll give up and leave me in peace._ He heard her stumble and swear on the stairs and listened. He was quite pleased to hear the familiar strident obscenities that began to issue from his mother’s portrait.

 _Silly woman! This has got to do the job_ , he thought complacently. She was out of her depth in his world. She should not be here and she would never be able to cope with the vagaries of his house. And he was far too busy to look after her.

He supposed he should go and demonstrate his own superiority and how completely helpless she was in this place. It might be quite satisfying. He pictured the look of admiration and gratitude he would see on her face.

He got into the hall just in time to hear her say “For crying out loud, you revolting old cow, shut the fuck up!” and see her smartly pull the curtains closed. They stayed closed and the portrait stayed silent. He could not believe what he had just seen and he gaped in amazement.

“How…how the hell did you do that? I’ve been trying to silence the old bitch for years!”

She gave him a withering look. “Get over yourself Sirius! Get over your bloody misplaced sense of aristocratic superiority. I told you not to underestimate me but you can’t help yourself can you? You live in this disgusting, smelly, squalid house - even though with your marvellous superior magic it would take you no time at all to keep it clean. You let your dog eat rats. You fester every day in a stew of your own bile, and you still think you’re better than everyone else – better than me. Well you’re not better, you’re just different. I’m a Muggle, Sirius.  A Muggle, not an idiot! Your bloody magic only works on me if I let it!” 

He felt the earth shift beneath his feet, metaphorically speaking. What was she saying? She could _choose?_

“Can you all do that?” he asked. “All Muggles, I mean.”

“We can all learn how to, yes,” said Julia. “More or less anyway.”

“So, how did you learn?”

“My brother used to play tricks on me. A lot. Magic tricks. Until I got thoroughly fed up with it and decided I wasn’t going to play his game. And that was it really.”

He was astonished. “Your brother is a wizard?”

Perhaps there was a bit more to this woman than he had thought.

 “Was, yes, and I’d give anything for him to come back and play a trick on me now.” She looked unhappy and it made him feel uncomfortable.

“Oh?”

“I won’t talk about it,” she said.

That, he could understand; but he wondered.

 

She sat down on the bottom step, leaned back against the carved post and looked at him. She possessed an unnerving ability to make him feel as if she was looking into his mind and it made him uneasy. He regarded her with something approaching respect.

“We haven’t got off to a very good start have we?”

Sirius was not about to disagree with that. Nor was he about to feel guilty.

“I need to talk to you about why I’m here. I need you to tell me everything you know of your family history.”

“It’s not something I care to discuss,” he said dismissively.

“No, I don’t suppose you do, and I’m sorry to ask, but I really need to know. This thing is bigger than either of us.”

“I don’t know what ‘thing’ it is,” he pointed out.

“No, I know. I need to explain it to you. I trust you Sirius. Will you trust me? Please?”

He looked at her for a long moment. Did he trust her? Eventually, he decided that after a fashion, he probably did.

“Come with me,” he said, taking her small, smooth hand in his big, rough one. _Why had he felt it necessary to hold her hand for Merlin’s sake?_

 

He led her upstairs to the drawing room.

“Here, this is probably what you need to see. _Lumos.”_ He flicked his wand towards the tapestry.

“Bloody hell!” gasped Julia. “It’s real. It still exists!”

Sirius was perplexed. She had heard of the tapestry before?

They looked at it together. She asked about the singed holes and Sirius explained why his mother had burnt out his own name.

 “Did she do that when you were sent to Azkaban?”

He gave a humourless laugh. “Oh no, she removed me long before. When I left home and went to live with the Potters. She would probably have reinstated me when I was sent to Azkaban if she could.”

“Oh no, Sirius! You were just a boy! How could a mother do that?” she put her hand out to him. She had an awful expression of compassion on her face and he recoiled.

She looked self-conscious and dropped her hand, muttering an apology.

“So,” he said, “are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Yes,” she said, “it’s time I did. In here, tomorrow morning then?”

He nodded assent.

 

He was thoughtful as he watched her climb the stairs to her room; part of him admiring the way her bottom moved as she climbed, and part of him thinking about what she had said. He had, he admitted, probably always thought that Muggles were, if not inferior exactly, at least disadvantaged. That was just how it was. Not having magic was a sort of disability, like not being able to see or hear or walk – wasn’t it? And yet this woman did not appear to think she was disadvantaged. Strange.

He looked around; looked at the place properly for the first time in months, noticing the neglect and dirt. The mildewed, blistered plaster with its flaking gilt; the blown, peeling wallpaper, the balls of grey fluff and dog hairs collected in the corners. It more than likely did smell, he thought; he was too accustomed to it to tell. But Julia had said it was smelly and he supposed she was probably right.

He thought he might light the stove for her tomorrow though.

.

 


	4. Dark Birthright

**Reluctantly, Sirius made his way** to the drawing room next morning, after he had heard Julia go in. She had found a tray and taken two cups of tea and a packet of biscuits with her.

“Can you make a fire in there?” She nodded at the fireplace.

Lazily he flicked his wand and warm flames skipped up into the chimney.

He made himself comfortable on a couch, noticing with apprehension the books and papers she had brought along. He prepared himself for what he was sure would be a mind-numbingly boring experience, but he thought he might as well humour her.

"It's hard to know where to start," she said.

"Try the beginning," he said flippantly.

"I don't know quite where the beginning is, but this is what we have to end with.” She indicated a fat notebook, much interrupted with bookmarks. "I’m not much of a storyteller, but this man was. His name was Charon Malfais and he wrote an account of his family history. This is my translation."

She shuffled some papers in her notebook, and looked at him expectantly.

He stretched his legs out in front of him and assumed what he hoped was an encouraging and attentive expression. Apparently satisfied, she started talking.

"When I was at university. . . " she began. Sirius  stopped paying attention almost immediately, but found he liked the sound of her voice. And the look of her mouth as she spoke.

She was reading something from a sheet of paper.

“Are you with me?” She sounded suspicious.

“I’m a wizard, not an idiot,” said Sirius, sarcastically. “Don’t underestimate me.”

Julia laughed, and Sirius felt a little frisson of pleasure somewhere in his middle.

He desperately tried to remember what she had been saying. This was like being at bloody school again! Perhaps he should pay a bit more attention.

Pepys! Ah yes, that was it. He had heard of Pepys and felt more confident. He could not for the life of him see why this was important though. And this other geezer. Malfais. He had never heard of him before. And what was that about the Fire of London?

Then Julia said something that surprised him.

“Whoa!” He said “Stop! You work in the Ministry?”

“Don’t interrupt,” she said “it’s rude.” He rolled his eyes theatrically and she carried on.

 

Sirius had long ago mastered the art of appearing to pay attention while in fact being almost asleep, and his mind was starting to drift off again as he watched Julia’s pretty mouth and let her pretty voice wash over him. He was trying to recall what might still be left in his father’s much depleted wine cellar, when another name made him, quite literally, sit up and take notice. Wulfric Black! And Ahrimanius Slytherin. He had heard of them all right. And the tapestry! That was why she had already known about it.

What was she saying? _What? The Black Death?_

She was not serious? There was no trace of humour in her face. In fact she looked a bit worried. About him?

He had to get this clear. "Let me get this right. My ancestors deliberately released several lethal plague pandemics to kill Muggles and strengthen our magic powers?"

She nodded, looking nervous.

“And the body of Wulfric Black was buried with something that contains the source of the infection?”

She nodded again.

“And this. . . Malfais? Tried to put a stop to it by starting the _Fire of London?_ And now we have got to find the source of this. . . plague, and I’ve got to destroy it?”

“Um, yes, that’s right.”

“Read that last bit to me again.”

She bit her lip and repeated, “'Mayhap one day in distant years a son of the sons of Black will renounce the pride of his forbears, and favouring the family of all mankind destroy that living remnant of Wulfric Black for eternity.

'And I say to this son of Black; the keys to the way shall be unlocked by the White Goddess and the secret will be held by the childrens' children of my servant. So I say, but ask what is the way to the place of bones and instruction shall be given.'”

This was not real was it?

“Pinch me,” he demanded, holding his arm out to her.

“What?”

“Pinch me. I need to know this isn’t the DTs.”

She obliged. Hard.

He winced and sucked at the red mark she had left. He was awake.

He put his head in his hands. "How many?" he whispered.

"Sorry?"

"How many? People died?"

"Please don't ask me that Sirius." Now he thought she was stalling.

He looked at her. "You know don't you! _How many?"_

She looked stricken. "The first plague that came from the Far East, is said to have killed about half of the population of Europe. Maybe a hundred million."

_"A hundred million people?"_

He thought about it. One and eight zeros. A hundred. Million. People. Dead.

She put her hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?”

If he had not, over the years, developed the internal constitution of a Norwegian Ridgeback, he thought he would probably have been sick. He shook her hand off. He did not want to be touched.

“No. Not really.”

She grimaced. "Come on," she said. "Let's go downstairs. We need some more tea."

.

He pushed his cup away in disgust. He needed a proper drink. He retrieved the last of his father’s Brobdingnagian brandy from the cupboard at the side of the range. Normally, he would have drunk straight from the bottle, but a secret part of him did not want Julia to see him do that. Instead, he poured out two glasses of the amber liquid. He slid one across the table to her and drained his own in one gulp. It seared a comforting trail of pain down to his stomach.

Julia took a tentative sip and looked revolted. “Not for me, thanks.”

“Please yourself,” he said, and drank hers too. He took hold of the bottle and was about to refill his glass when he glanced at Julia.

She looked . . . what, frightened?  Of him?

He did not want her around. No he did not. But nor did he want her to be afraid of him, and so for once, good sense prevailed and he grudgingly shoved the cork back into the neck of the bottle and put it behind him, out of sight.

“How am I supposed to deal with this?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”

“That’s your trouble,” he said, entirely unfairly. “You don’t think.”

“You aren’t Wulfric Black, Sirius,” she said. “He lived seven centuries ago. You are what Malfais wanted. ‘The son of the sons of Black who will one day renounce the pride of his forbears.’”

_Was he?_

“But I’m afraid that’s not all.”

“Oh Merlin, no.” He did not think he could take any more.

“About a fortnight ago, an area of ground near Cheapside started to subside and some very old structures were exposed. Because there is so much archaeology under the ground everywhere in the city, I was employed to research the history of the area, in order to establish what building might have been there before they begin to excavate.  I have come to the conclusion that it is on the site of St Wergrim’s Abbey. Where Wulfric Black is buried.

"There is something in the crypt of St Wergrim’s that will start another plague if it’s disturbed. The Black Death. And in two weeks they’re going to dig it up.”

“Shit.” He felt like crying.

“Somehow we’ve got to figure out how to find the thing and destroy it, before some unsuspecting Muggle archaeologist gets hold of it. That’s what Albus sent me here for.”

He stared into the stove and let the flames take on the image of James’s face. _I need to talk to you mate,_ he thought.

.

There was no avoiding this any longer. “You need the library.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You have a _library_ in this house? Were you going to bother telling me?” She seemed, understandably perhaps, rather annoyed.

He did not answer, but stood and motioned for her to follow him. In silence, he led her to the small library at the back of the house. The doors protested noisily as she pushed them open. He had not been in that room for, what? twenty years at least, although he could see someone had been in there more recently. It smelt musty and mouldy. Julia looked rather overwhelmed and he almost felt sorry for her, but he needed to be alone.

He went back to the drawing room and stood in front of the tapestry. He looked at the line that ran unbroken from Wulfric Black at the top, to the hole near the bottom where his own name had been burned out. Was that what he was? That blood he had always been told he should be so proud of - that evil! - ran through his own veins. It made sense to him. It explained why he made everything fall apart around him.

He felt cold and walked to the fireplace at the other end of the room and sat on the floor in front of it.

 _Are you there Prongs?_ he thought. _What do I do about this?_

He stared into the dying embers of the fire and let his mind clear and his vision blur.

At last, he saw James’s face in there, and he looked serious but encouraging; Did James think he could do this thing then? James had always known better than he did himself what he was capable of. Then that changed and it was not James he saw any more, it was Julia, her face open and trusting. And behind her he saw his parents, dark and angry; always disappointed in him. And away off to the side, deep in shadow, almost invisible, Regulus. Regulus, who he had never taken the time to know.

Then from the darkness behind them, another figure emerged, moving towards him. A young man, bewigged and dressed in the garb of a seventeenth century nobleman. His face was drawn in grief yet his grey eyes were alight with hope. He put his hands palm up towards Sirius in a gesture of pleading and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came.

And then there was just the glow of the fire again. He blinked to clear his eyes and stayed for some time until the fire was out altogether and he began to grow cold again, and stiff.

 

 

He went to the kitchen and coaxed the range into life. On the spur of the moment he made Julia a cup of tea and took it upstairs.

She was surprised and touchingly grateful, and for a second he wondered why he had never done that before. Such a small thing.

He laughed at her dishevelled appearance, and when she peered at herself in a dirty mirror on the wall, she wailed in despair. He felt a tremendous and inexplicable urge to touch her, and a tiny spider on her eyebrow provided him with the perfect opportunity. Delicately, he picked it off, depositing it on the desk. The tips of his fingers felt warm for a minute as if remembering the warmth of her skin and a little of the cold weight in his chest eased.

“Sirius, where did the Black family live before they moved into this house?” she asked. “There’s material here that predates this house by centuries.”

At last, a question he knew the answer to. “The family had an estate here,” he said. “This row was built in the grounds.  My great-great-however-many-times grandfather must have seen an advantage to selling to Muggle developers _._ We never moved far away.”

“And before that?”

“There’s a map somewhere. I remember my father showing me.” He investigated one of the shelves. It was where he remembered. “This is it, I think.” He pulled down a large roll of parchment.

She unrolled the map on the desk and he leaned over her to look. They were very close and he thought she was looking sideways at him. He wondered what would happen if he turned to face her now; would she kiss him? Would he kiss her back if she did?

He did not turn his head, afraid that either of those things might happen. Or was he afraid that neither would?

Later, he led her up to the third floor corridor in the disused part of the back of the house, and showed her the pictures of Black Court, Saint Wergrim and the abbey that hung on the walls there. Then they retired to the kitchen and while Julia made some sandwiches, he relit the stove and for a few minutes he let himself secretly enjoy those moments of domesticity.

Between bites of cheese and pickle sandwich, Julia mused aloud on the puzzles they had to unravel, and the enigma of the tapestry, but he was not really paying attention. He was looking forward to the quiet night-time, when Padfoot could rest his head on her stomach again and have her undivided attention.

 


	5. The Meeting

 

 **Sirius was talking to Buckbeak** the next afternoon, when he heard the unmistakeable _whoosh!_ of someone arriving in the drawing room fireplace, and he hurried downstairs.

Remus was there, dusting soot off his shoulders, and Julia, who had been sitting on the floor in front of the tapestry, was getting to her feet looking stunned.

“Sirius!” said Remus, grinning and shaking his hand. “Won’t you introduce me to your friend?”

“Friend?” Sirius looked around in exaggerated confusion. “Oh that’s just Julia.”

Julia had been smiling but now she was not smiling any more and he unexpectedly felt mean and small. He pushed the feeling aside.

Resigned, he said, “Julia, this is Remus”

"Oh! Remus Lupin!" she said, “I'm very pleased to meet you at last. My friends call me Jules."

"I'm glad to meet you too, Jules,” said Remus. “Sirius, there's a meeting of the Order here tonight. The others will start arriving in an hour or so. Shall we go down to the kitchen?”

 

As they were leaving the drawing room, for some reason, Sirius looked back at Julia. The expression on her face was positively bleak, and on impulse he said, “Coming?” Then she beamed at him and he had to concentrate on breathing for a second.

 _Impulse!_ Impulse would be the death of him.

She looked cheerful again. "Why don't I make something to sustain you during your meeting?"

Sirius was slightly nonplussed and was about to tell her she need not bother, when Remus butted in.

"I think that's an excellent idea, Jules. I'm sure everyone will appreciate it."

“It will be so nice to have company,” she said. “I wonder where Padfoot is?"

_Shit!_

Remus looked astonished and opened his mouth as if to speak.

"He's around somewhere,” said Sirius hurriedly. “Catching rats I expect."

Remus gave him a bemused look and closed his mouth.

 

Julia busied herself with a mixing bowl by the range, and Remus and Sirius seated themselves as far away as they could at the other end of the vast table.

“Well,” said Remus, in a low voice, “are you going to spill the beans? What’s this big secret?”

Sirius thought about it. “I don’t know how much to say, Remus. It’s pretty – weird. What I will say is that some of my ancestors make my cousin Bellatrix look like a niffler kit.”

“Blimey!” said Remus. “You’re kidding?”

“I wish I bloody was. The long and short of it is; Julia’s discovered the existence of something very dangerous that one of my ancestors created, and I’m supposed to help her find it and destroy it.”

Remus waited for more, but when it was not forthcoming, said, “You must be enjoying having some company though?”

“I don’t want company!”

“Sirius!”

“Well I don’t. And she’s a bloody nuisance.”

“You’re looking better though. You don’t look so – hungry.”

“She can cook, I’ll give you that.”

“I didn’t mean that sort of hunger, exactly. But she’s quite nice-looking too.”

Sirius gave Remus a dirty look, and Remus gave him a knowing grin.

To his relief, the front door rattled at that moment. “Ah, someone else is here.”

They heard the umbrella stand in the hall fall over, and an irritated curse, followed promptly by the familiar howl of Sirius’s mother. They exchanged glances. “Tonks!” they said together and as one, got up and went out to the hall.

“SHAMEFUL SPAWN OF MUDBLOOD FILTH! CROWS WILL PECK THE EYES OF THE BLOOD TRAITORS!” shrieked the portrait with malevolent glee. It looked at Sirius and redoubled its effort. “USELESS WEAKLING! DISGRACEFUL BLEMISH ON THIS GLORIOUS HOUSE! MAY MAGGOTS EAT YOU FROM THE INSIDE!”

The shrill tirade was as relentless as ever, and Sirius tried, really he did, to make the bloody thing shut up, but either he was growing more ineffectual or it was just inured to him. The best he could manage was to make one side of the curtain hang in a lopsided drape across one side of his mother’s hat and that had absolutely no effect on the vituperative filth that continued to spew forth.

Finally, perspiring with effort, he admitted defeat. "Julia!" he shouted.

He could not understand why she did not hear him. She was not ignoring him? _Was she?_

"Julia, for Merlin's sake!" he yelled impatiently.

She appeared at the end of the hall. "You called?" she said, wearing an innocent expression that did not fool him for a second.

"Just shut the bloody thing up will you!" he said.

She looked at him expectantly. "Haven't you forgotten something?"

"What?" he said, confused. _What was the bloody woman playing at?_

"The magic word?"

_Magic word?_

"Magic word? For fuck's sake!  _Please,_  Julia, will you deal with my mother!"

"But of course", she said with a pleasant smile, stepping forwards. Walburga Black’s yellow eyes swivelled towards her and the portrait silenced immediately. The curtains swished smartly shut.

Sirius cleared his throat. "Ah, thanks."

Tonks was looking stunned. "Sorry, so sorry.” She put the umbrella stand upright and replaced the shrivelled head and empty bottles back inside. “What just happened there?"

Remus introduced them. "Tonks, this is Julia. She likes to be called Jules. Jules, meet Nymphadora Tonks."

"Wotcher, Jules, just call me Tonks."

The two women smiled at each other.

The four of them went back into the kitchen. It smelled wonderful. Remus sniffed in appreciation and Sirius made a point of not doing so.

The two men returned to their positions at the far end of the table. Julia was prodding at a cake tin and Tonks must have been trying to help because a chair fell over.

“Come on then,” said Remus, rolling his sleeve up and plonking his elbow on the table. “Show us your mettle.”

Sirius cheered up and grinned. “Ha! You don’t stand a chance!”

“Huh, we’ll see about that.”

They clasped hands and set to. Tonks was watching with interest, and it did occur to Sirius that her presence might be making Remus put a bit more effort in than usual. He wondered if Julia would be impressed if he won, but she did not appear to be paying the slightest attention and he decided not to waste his energy. He did not know why it had even crossed his mind.

Remus won all three bouts and Sirius felt slightly depressed. _Exercise,_ he thought. _I need to get more exercise._

Over the next half hour or so a number of other people arrived and made themselves at home around the great table. Remus waited for Sirius to make some introductions but eventually sighed in resignation and took the initiative himself.

"Everyone, I'd like you to meet Julia who is staying here for a while." He began the introductions. "Alastor Moody.”

She did not appear to be fazed by Mad-Eye’s hideous, revolving prosthetic eye and looked directly at him. "What you see is what you get, Mr. Moody. Muggle through and through".

"So I see," said Alastor, taking a sip from his hip flask.

"Mundungus Fletcher."

"Ah yes, Mr. Fletcher, we have met before.”  _She knew Mundungus?_

“And Kingsley you know of course.” Kingsley shook her hand. "I hope you are making some progress?"

Sirius felt a little uncomfortable and was glad that Julia did not seem to think an answer was required.

"And Molly and Arthur need no introduction."

Looking doubtfully at Sirius, Molly said, "I hope you’re getting on all right here?"

"I'm having to make allowances,” said Julia. They all laughed. That was annoying

She put a plate at each end of the table. “Flapjacks,” she said, "still a bit warm I'm afraid.”

Sirius managed to quietly summon a couple into his hand as the plate passed by. He did not know how she could possibly have seen what he had done, but he felt the stinging slap of a tea towel across the back of his hand and she moved the plate further away.

Tonks crowed with hilarity. That was annoying too. He shot a sticky crumb at her. She stuck out a lizard-like tongue and caught it with ease.

"I'll leave you now," said Julia. "I hope you have a productive meeting."

 

Kingsley rapped sharply on the table with his knuckles. “Ladies and gentlemen, can we call the meeting to order please!”

Everyone quieted and paid attention.

“We have apologies from Dedalus, Elphias, Emmeline, Sturgis, Hestia, Minerva and Severus.”

Sirius snorted in derision and Kingsley gave him a disapproving look.

“Albus has sent a report which forms the main focus of this meeting, but before we get to that, can we have some updates please? Remus, I understand you can apprise us of the current situation at Hogwarts?”

Remus cleared his throat. “Yes, thank you, Kingsley. Er, I went to the school last week –“

Sirius butted in. “You went to the school? You didn’t tell me! I could have gone with you!”

“No you couldn’t Sirius, as you know perfectly well!”

“Excuse me,” said Kingsley. “Sirius please desist from interrupting. Remus, carry on with your report.”

Sirius seethed quietly.

“I had a short meeting with Rubeus Hagrid, and he told me that Dolores Umbridge has the school more or less on a lockdown. She appears to be reporting to Fudge alone. Can you confirm that Kingsley?”

Kingsley nodded. “That appears to be the case.”

“As you know the ban on any practical teaching of Defence against the Dark Arts continues. With the exams commencing soon, I daresay we shall soon know how effective her ban has been.

Apparently a number of students are now vying for supremacy in the field of mischief-making, in the void which has been left by the departure of Fred and George. There is a degree of, shall we say, laissez faire, among certain of the staff where this is concerned.  It has become something of a war of attrition.”

There was a ripple of amusement around the table and Molly looked as if she could not decide whether to be disapproving or proud,

Sirius interrupted. “What about Harry’s occlumency lessons?”

Remus looked worried. “I have tried to speak to Severus about this but he refused to give me an assurance that he would resume Harry’s lessons.”

“Bastard!”

“Sirius, please!” admonished Kingsley.

Remus continued, “I’m afraid I have no further information. The situation is rather obfuscated, but I believe that the students remain safe in the school, at least for the time being.”

“Thank you, Remus. Arthur, have you anything to report?”

“Not a great deal, Kingsley. As you know, the Ministry are clamping down hard on Muggle-born employees and the few Muggles who work there have had their employment terminated without notice. That includes Julia, of course, but she doesn’t know yet.” He grimaced.

Sirus scowled. That was not fair.

“Mundungus have there been any developments in the East End?”

Munungus puffed his chest out with importance. “Chances are you all know there’s been a lotta reports o’ dementor sightin’s around the city?”

There were murmurs of assent. Sirius tried to appear impassive, though chills ran through him.

“Well me ‘n some o’ the lads‘ve been keepin’ our mincers on a new office development in Canary Wharf. It’s bein’ built by a property developer, operatin’ under the name of Riddle Enterprises Inc. It’s goin’ to be the headquarters of a business that’s sprung from nowhere as far as we c’n tell. The business is called, as it ‘appens, TMR Communications. They are going to be providin’ them new Muggle mobile tellingfones.”

“Fellytones,” interrupted Arthur.

“Whatever they call ‘em Arfur. Mad-eye thinks it’s got summink t’ do wiv the increased dementor activity.”

Kingsley turned to Moody. “Alastor can you add anything to that?”

Moody’s eye rested briefly on everyone in turn until it appeared to get stuck and he pushed a finger behind it to free it with a nauseating squelch. “Bloody thing,” he muttered.

“If what Dung reports is correct - and we believe it is - the prospect of You-know-Who having a foothold in Muggle communications is a serious cause for concern. The increase in dementor activity in London seems to be coinciding with an unexplained rash of apparent suicides and murders.

“I do not - repeat, do not! - believe in coincidence. Constant vigilance, ladies and gentlemen. Constant vigilance!”

“Sirius, would you care to give us an update on how you and Julia are getting on?”

“I would not.”

He thought Kingsley’s patience was wearing thin. Good. Kingsley was notoriously difficult to get a rise out of.

Kingsley twisted his gold earring with controlled irritation. “Fine. Well done, Sirius. In that case, we come to the main purpose of this meeting. I have a detailed report from Albus, here. He took a small glass vial from his pocket, pulled out the stopper and placed it in the middle of the table.

A thin vapour began to drift upwards from the neck of the vial, thickened and materialised into the face of Albus Dumbledore, which hovered a couple of feet above the table beaming around at all of them.

“Good evening all. My apologies for being unable to attend in person. As I daresay you will recall from the last meeting, for quite a number of weeks, we have been dealing with an attempt by a group we believe to be followers of Voldemort to cross a male Vietnamese Five-toed Imperial Dragon with a female Welsh Red. As I’m sure you are aware, the Five-toed Imperial is on the point of extinction and extremely difficult to breed from, whereas the Welsh Red may be regarded as the rabbit of the dragon world.”

“Just a mo, Professor,” interjected Tonks. “Apart from its rarity, why’s the Five-toed Imperial so important to the other side?”  

Dumbledore’s face turned to her.

“You will be too young to remember, of course. Some of you others will probably have only vague memories of what happened in Vietnam in the early 1970s when a Muggle war inadvertently destroyed the natural habitat of some of the last remaining Imperial dragon colonies.

“The flame of the Five-toed Imperial is more lethal and destructive than that of any other dragon by a considerable margin. The consequences of uncontrolled dragon flame in Vietnam are still affecting the environment, even after all this time. Being able to call upon a significant number of dragons with that lethal ability would be an immensely powerful weapon in Voldemort’s hands.

Thanks to information we received from a secret Muggle government organisation based in Wales, we were tipped off that a male Five-toed Imperial had been smuggled into the port of Cardiff in a shipping container. From there it was transported to the Brecon Beacons, where a group of Cambrian giants had a female Welsh Red in captivity. We did not become aware of the plan until the dragons had already been mated and the eggs were due to be laid, so there was a degree of urgency.

We managed to apprehend the culprits and found the clutch of eggs and the stunned male dragon in the back of a horse box a fortnight ago, as they were being switched to another vehicle prior to being transported back to Cardiff. We owe Dedalus and Hestia a vote of thanks-“

There was a murmur of agreement.

“-and I’m sure you’ll all be pleased to hear that their burns have nearly healed and they will be out of St Mungo’s in a few days.

“Molly, would you be good enough to convey our sincerest thanks to Charlie? Without his expertise in dragon breeding patterns and his handling skills I don’t know what we would have done.”

Molly looked pleased.

Now, I need to tell you about another threat which has reared its head. This is something I have long had a faint suspicion of but I fear it is reaching fruition now.

“You probably will not be aware that over recent weeks there has been something of a spate of sightings of the so-called ‘Loch Ness Monster’?”

Arthur looked excited, but Sirius sniggered derisively. “For Merlin’s sake, that’s a Muggle fairy tale!”

Dumbledore turned to him, blinking his sharp blue eyes. “Indeed it is. But not only a Muggle fairy tale in fact.

“There is an ancient and very obscure folk tale which few know of. Certainly, it never made its way into the ‘Tales of Beedle the Bard’. It is rather cryptic, but appears to describe how, in the first century of this millennium, Salazar made his way north from the fens accompanied by his wife and two creatures of some sort, which he later turned into basilisks.”

There was consternation around the table.

“Do you mean-?”

“Yes, indeed. Salazar created more than one basilisk. The one that waited nearly a millennia under Hogwarts castle before Harry managed to destroy it, is now well known and documented. But the other has been waiting under the dark waters of Loch Ness for her master’s call, and now the call has been made. It is not widely known –as yet- but the increased sightings at Loch Ness have been accompanied by the discovery of the bodies of three cows, seven sheep, two dogs, a cat, and an angler. All petrified.

“It is now a matter of some urgency for us to get a team up there to contain the situation. The recent experience at the school has given us valuable insight into the way a basilisk may be tackled, but I have no doubt that it will not be an easy task. Doubtless there will also be supporters of Voldemort to contend with along the way. Dedalus and Hestia will be joining me as soon as they are able, but I am looking for two or three more volunteers. Not you, Sirius I’m afraid.”

He had not even opened his mouth!

Sirius lost his temper. “Well if you think of any way I can possibly help, do let me know won’t you?” What the hell? You won’t give me anything to bloody do! You’ll all sod off home in half an hour, and leave me incarcerated here again, won’t you?”

They thought he was useless. Worse. They thought he was a liability.

“Hey, mate,” said Tonks looking sympathetic. “At least Julia’s here for a bit!”

Furious, Sirius glared at her and stomped out of the meeting, to go upstairs and feed his resentment alone.

 

A couple of hours later when he judged the meeting had finished, he ventured downstairs to spend some time with Remus.

He was unreasonably irritated to find Julia and Remus sitting together by the stove. Julia was. . . . _was she mending Remus’s coat?_ What the _hell_ was she _thinking?_ She just could not stop herself from sticking her nose in where it was not wanted!

"Sirius", said Julia, looking up at him, "what are you keeping in the room on the second floor? I could hear something making a terrible noise up there and it sounded as if the door was being destroyed."

Sirius was irate. _Nosy bloody woman!_ "Never you mind! It's no business of yours, keep your nose out."

"Steady on, Sirius,” protested Remus, “she was only asking a question."

"Asking bloody questions is all she ever bloody well does!"

He glanced at Julia and was horrified to see unshed tears in her eyes. He had not meant to do that.

She swallowed. Her voice was strained. ”Time for me to go, I think. I'll leave you to it."

"I won't be here in the morning, Julia,” said Remus. “I've enjoyed meeting you. Take care of yourself - and of him." He smirked and looked over at Sirius who gritted his teeth.

"I hope we meet again Remus,” she said. “I have enjoyed our evening."

"I hope so too,” he smiled. “Good luck."

Then she gave Remus a hug and a kiss on the cheek as she left. Remus did not appear to mind in the least. Sirius fumed.

He sat down on the chair Julia had vacated and put his feet up on the range.

Remus was looking annoyed. He slammed his cup down, slopping tepid tea over the side. “What is it with this Padfoot thing?” he demanded. “She doesn’t know it’s you, and she said you _sleep_ with her _every night!”_

Sirius was embarrassed and defensive. “She had no damn business –!”

“ _No business?_ Sirius you aren’t just fucking with your own feelings here! Just because she’s a Muggle doesn’t mean she’s not deserving of respect! I like her, Sirius and I don’t want you to hurt her.”

“Hurt her? But that’s what I do best Remus, or had you forgotten?”

“Self-pity was never one of your more attractive qualities, Sirius. Stop it. How do you think she’ll feel when she finds out?”

“She won’t find out, will she? Unless someone tells her!”

Remus shook his head, despairing. “You’re digging a pit for yourself. Don’t expect me to come and pull you out of it. I’ve got to be going now, but please, Sirius, just think about what you’re doing. Julia can help you, you know, but you’ll have to let her!”

 _Would that work_ , Sirius wondered idly, _in the same way that Julia had to let magic happen?_

When Remus had gone, Sirius collected a fresh bottle from the now nearly empty wine cellar and went to his mother’s room to complain to Buckbeak, who never answered back or argued.

He thought Julia would miss Padfoot tonight. He hoped so. He hoped she would be thoroughly miserable. Like he was.

 

It was perfectly true that Buckbeak did not argue, or, in fact, disagree with him in any way; something he could not even say about Padfoot these days, but the conversation was distinctly one sided. Eventually the bottle was almost empty, it was getting light, and Sirius had made a decision.

He needed to make some things clear. The woman needed to know exactly where she stood. She must be made to see that this world was not hers and she should have a bit more respect. He would talk to her about this and make her understand these things.

He walked carefully towards her bedroom. It seemed further away than usual. He could hear the plumbing gurgling in the bathroom, so he sat on the floor outside her bedroom door and finished the dregs of the bottle he was holding while he waited. When he heard the bathroom door open he got unsteadily to his feet and leaned against the wall, watching as she approached.

What in Merlin’s name was she wearing? There was hardly anything of it! What was she _thinking?_ The silk was so old and thin he could see the dark tips of her breasts. In fact, the damp fabric left practically nothing to the imagination. Did she have no sense of self-preservation? Anyone could come along and see!

She seemed less than pleased to find him there and wrinkled her nose as if he smelt bad.

"What do you want, Sirius? I assume you have not risen bright and early this fine morning, but rather that you have been up all night drinking and this is just a sad continuation of your night's debauchery?" She pushed past him and he followed her into the bedroom. "I take it Remus has gone?"

That made him angry; and he did not know why he was angry so he groped for the first thing that came to mind.

"Keep away from Remus, I'm warning you!"

"I _beg_ your pardon?” She looked furious and poked him hard in the chest. “My private life is none of your business!”

“You bitch!” He grabbed her arm and swung her against the wall. This feeling of violence towards her frightened him and he would have let go of her then, but it did not seem to frighten her. She grabbed hold of the front of his shirt and pulled him closer.

Her face was so close to his, he could smell the peppermint of toothpaste on her breath and her chest was heaving. He could feel her hard nipples poking at him.

"Go on then, Sirius," she said. "I dare you."

Her mouth looked so delicious. It was like a pink fruit. He paused. This was _not_ a good idea. It was really not. But then his mouth was on hers, and she tasted of toothpaste and passion; and she was like oxygen, like water, like food. She was all the things he needed, He wanted to consume her.

He pulled away, gasping.  Her fingers twisted into his hair and she pulled his head down to her again.

“Sirius - please,” she whispered, and he was lost. Her tongue was in his mouth and he knew she wanted him, this woman, and he didn’t know why; but dimly, he was grateful. The fragile silk of the antique robe tore apart in his hands. He did not really mean to be rough, but she seemed not to mind. Her breasts were larger than he expected, his hands barely contained their fullness. His mouth was on her neck; her small hands were on his skin, on his chest and back; fumbling with his jeans.

Impatiently, he pushed her hand aside, snapping open the button and ripping the zip down. Then her hand was searching inside, holding his cock - at last! His own fingers found that hot, wet, needy place between her legs. Her back was arching and she was pleading with him and guiding him into her. She was so tight and he could not stop. As the old bed creaked and complained in time with his movements, the bedstead banged into the wall, and he hardly noticed he was sobbing.

Then Julia was crying out – _crying out_ _his name!_ \- and he came so hard he almost passed out. He was shaking, and collapsed on top of her, fighting for breath, His heart was thumping against his ribs and he was vaguely aware that the mattress had split open and the air was full of feathers.

“Sirius?”

Her voice was gentle and it broke his trance. He felt her fingers soft on his face and realised he was crying. He did not want her to see him crying. He did not want her to see him - anything. He pulled out of her, feeling the trickle of liquid with his withdrawal and suppressed a bitter sense of loss.

“Sirius?” she said again. There was worry in her voice.

For a moment he looked at her face. Her eyes were large and anxious.

He groped inside his mind for the anger that made him strong, and forced himself to feel nothing. Forced his eyes to show her nothing.

Wordlessly, he turned away from her, tucked himself in and left the room, leaving her bewildered there on the torn mattress. Naked, undignified and humiliated.

Outside the room he paused for a moment resting his head against the wall. In his mind’s eye he saw her face again; her hazel eyes warm with compassion and hope, then dark with hurt and distress. Then her face changed to James’ face; and James looked . . . disappointed. _Mate. Oh, Mate._

He shook feathers out of his hair. He needed to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N If the middle of this chapter felt a bit like a plotbunny shopping list; sorry about that...  
> comments welcome - and if I have cocked up any canon details please let me know.


	6. Black Dog

 

 **In one of the old master bedrooms** at the front of the building, near to the room where he kept Buckbeak, Sirius slept, and woke, and slept again. Sometimes he heard Julia moving in the corridors and staircases, quiet and unobtrusive; and once, he watched unseen from the landing above as she walked down the hall towards the kitchen. In the night, he roamed the house in darkness, even venturing to within ten feet of her bedroom door. It stood slightly ajar, and he wondered if she had left it that way for Padfoot.

After daybreak he could hear her moving again. Once, he heard her footsteps pause outside his door and he held his breath, willing her to go away.

By the time he heard her venture upstairs and go into the attics he was feeling too sick and shivery to be curious about what she was doing. He sneaked unsteadily downstairs to find the half-bottle of firewhisky he had hidden in a rusty cauldron in case of emergencies.

It stopped the shaking and subdued the nausea, but did not stop him seeing James in the corner of his eye no matter where he looked; and it did nothing to calm the shouting in his head.

In the afternoon when the sun was sinking lower and the harsh light cutting through the dirty windows hurt his eyes, he heard Julia in the corridor outside calling his name. This time, holding his breath and hoping did not work. She was not going to leave him alone. Reluctantly, he opened the door. She looked small and pale and had dark circles under her eyes. He studied the floor at her side.

Her voice was resolute. "I've just realised something, I need to talk to you. But can we clear the air first. Sirius, please!"

He looked at her. "Oh Sirius-" she moved towards him, her hand out. He had been unguarded for a moment. _What had she seen?_ He recoiled.

She looked as if he had struck her; her eyes were dark pits of pain in her face.

Her mouth tightened. "This is ridiculous!" She pushed past him. "Bloody hell, this is revolting. It stinks like the worst sort of doss house." She picked up a bottle and sniffed at it.

"Firewhisky! For goodness' sake, Sirius!"

It was his! He wanted it back and grabbed for the bottle. "Give that to me!"

"No," she said "not a chance!"

_Obstinate bitch!_

He lunged at her but his aim was off and she sidestepped him neatly. "No, Sirius, over my dead body!"

The idea appealed. He snatched again for the bottle but this time Julia overbalanced and fell against the bedpost, crying out in pain. A sudden wash of shame chilled him.

"Damnation! Let me-" he reached for her, but in tears, she pulled away.

She knelt on the floor before him holding her wrist. "You're nothing but a miserable bully, Sirius! A sad, pathetic excuse for a man!” She looked up at him. “Does it make you feel better to pick on someone smaller and weaker than you? I thought better of you, but it seems I was wrong. You'll be no use to Professor Dumbledore or the Order or anyone else if you're dead because your liver's exploded. You need to clean up your act!"

He was not going to listen to this woman. He was Sirius Black. No-one was going to tell him what to do.

He clenched his fist and punched the wall with such force he felt the bones of his knuckles crack and she cried out, “Sirius! Stop!”

With all his strength, he flung the bottle he held into the hearth, where it shattered, sending a vicious shower of glass, firewhisky and soot all over the room. Then he sank to his knees, exhausted.

He did not know if he was speaking or just thinking. _What a mess! Merlin, what a fucking mess!_ His head drooped; he no longer had the strength to hold it up.

He thought she was beside him although he did not look up and could not be sure.

Her voice cracked with distress. "Sirius, you can't go on like this." After a minute of silence, she stood. "Is this my fault? I'm sorry. I was stupid. I didn't know."

 _Was it her fault?_ He felt the emptiness surround him as she left the room.

 

He stood behind the tattered curtain and looked down into the street, watching her walk away. He did not want her to see him there when she looked back. But she did not look back at all.

When she had disappeared from sight, he waited some time longer for her to return, but she did not, and after a time he slid down the wall and sat on the floor.

_Prongs?_

James was there, but he was not approving or disapproving; he was dead. Sirius closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. In; and out. In; and out.

The rest of the day passed in a fog of restless sleep and acidic wine. After dark, he wandered the dusty corridors of the upper floors and Padfoot hunted, though his heart was not in it and the rats were safe that night. As day was breaking he returned to the room at the front of the house and slept once more. Next time he woke, the sun was high in the sky.

She would be back by now wouldn’t she? She was not going to stay away was she? She had a job to do. Would she abandon him? No, not _him_ – it! _It!_

Perhaps she was in the kitchen. He would be casual. He would pretend nothing had happened. He would light the stove and make her a cup of tea. Maybe she would bake a cake.

But the kitchen was cold and deserted. There was no residual warmth in the range and a short note lay on the table. _I have taken the map,_ it said. _I will see it is returned._

She did not need to come back.

He took the last half-dozen bottles from the wine cellar and went back upstairs. He looked out of the window again, just in case she was, even now, returning, but he recognised no-one on the street below. He opened one of the bottles and took a deep, fortifying gulp, then another, and waited for the solace he anticipated; but somehow it did not quite come.

Anger? Anger he could handle. Anger was familiar. It was comforting. It was strength. But this? This was torture.

He clenched his fist and punched the wall again, feeling the crunch and a sharp pain in the already damaged bones of his hand, and he grinned with fierce satisfaction.

Over and over, with both hands, he pummeled the wall, taking perverse pleasure in the pain and damage both to the house and to his flesh.

_-Sad, pathetic excuse for a man-_

Then he beat his head on the wall until he was bleeding; and when that no longer worked beyond making him dizzy, and he could still hear her voice-

- _Sad, Pathetic excuse for a man-_

-he picked a shard of glass up from the floor and began to slice at himself on his hands and arms and legs.

.

His limbs and clothes were covered in blood. There was blood on the floorboards and carpet and blood splashed on the walls and blood and snot and tears smeared on his face and hands; His throat was sore from screaming and he had lost his voice. Eventually, he passed out on the floor.

He had no idea what time it was or what day it was when he finally pulled himself together enough to heal most of the injuries on the outside of his body, and at last, swallowing the remaining sour, yeasty dregs of wine, he crawled naked into Julia’s bed and buried his face in the pillow where the faintest trace of her scent still lingered. He did not know how long he stayed there but there were times when it was light, and at other times it was dark.

He thought he heard, in the distance, the _whoosh!_ of someone coming in through the fireplace, but he did not care enough to investigate. Whoever it was could come and find him.

Someone did. It was Remus. And he brought coffee. Dark, aromatic and bitter. And he made him drink it, at times almost forcing it down his throat, until at last Sirius could see about him. Bloodstained sheets were tangled on the bed and blankets piled in drifts on the floor; everything was covered in feathers. He was clutching something in his hand; the shredded remains of Julia’s silk robe. Humiliated, he shoved it under the pillow and sat on the side of the bed, keeping his head in his hands to hold it still and stop it falling off.

Remus was sitting in a chair watching him, anxious and disapproving.

“Do you know why I’m here?”                                                                                                                  

Sirius tried to think. No he did not. Thankfully, Remus did not appear to expect an answer. “Arthur asked me to come and check up on you.”

_Arthur?_

“Julia went to see him. She was worried about you.”

 _Julia was worried about him?_ A tiny ember of warmth sparked somewhere deep inside.

“He reassured her, obviously,” said Remus. “Told her not to worry. Told her how tough and resilient you are. But he was concerned enough to raise the alarm straight away. And she was right to be worried wasn’t she? I wonder that it has taken this Muggle woman you so despise, to show us what should have been bleedin’ obvious. You need help, Sirius!”

“I don’t need help!” His voice was hoarse, his throat raw. “What does she know? She’s only a bloody Muggle!” The words tasted bitter and false as he spoke.

Remus looked at him with dislike. “Sometimes you sound like your mother, or your cousin Bellatrix. Listen to yourself, you blockhead! What does that mean? So she can’t do magic. Big bloody deal! I can’t mend my own clothes. And you -! You don’t even seem able to feed yourself! It doesn’t make her useless. Or do you think it does?

Sirius was unable to compose any sort of intelligent response.

He heard someone else arrive by the front door. _Who the hell is it this time?_ he wondered wearily. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?

Remus rested his head against Sirius’s. “You’re my friend, Sirius. I care about you, but you are a fucking idiot. I’ve got to go now. You’ve got another visitor. For Merlin’s sake, put some bloody clothes on and go downstairs!”

 

 

Unexpectedly, his visitor this time was Professor Dumbledore.  He stood in the kitchen by the dusty range and looked down at Sirius, who was sitting at the table, doubtful that he was capable of maintaining an upright stance for any length of time.

Dumbledore’s blue eyes were not twinkling now, they were hard and cold. Sirius swallowed the unappetizing dregs of his coffee and prepared himself for an uncomfortable interview. He felt about two inches tall under the professor's contemptuous gaze.

His voice was glacial. “Would you care to tell me precisely what has been going on here, Sirius? I asked Julia to come to this house in good faith. I virtually promised her that she would get the help she needed, but it appears she got something entirely different. Explain yourself!”

Sirius mustered some defiance. “How do you know what she got, damn you!”

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed. “I may not be as extensively experienced in matters of the flesh as you are Sirius, but I am not a fool. Kindly do not treat me as if I were!”

“What happened was between me and her. No-one else.”

“Except your conscience perhaps?”

Dumbledore leaned on the table and looked steadily into Sirius’s eyes. He felt something flickering in his mind. “Stop it!” he muttered.

The professor straightened and gave a long sigh. His hard expression relaxed a little. “I cannot deny that I have been at fault here also. Perhaps I owe you something of an apology. I have been too much concerned with larger issues and I have neglected the smaller ones to my discredit. It is something I shall be more careful of in future.

“You made a poor judgement when you were very young, Sirius, and it had catastrophic consequences, that is true. But you cannot carry this weight for your whole life. You must move forward, there is nothing else you _can_ do. You cannot turn the clock back. Time moves only in one direction. Azkaban has brutalised you, as it does all those who suffer incarceration there; but you are not a beast, you are a man.

“It may be that Julia’s discovery offers an opportunity for you to make amends - if you choose to take it.”

Sirius looked at the professor. “You’ve got us all dancing to your tune haven’t you? Playing your game. Moving us like pawns around your chessboard!”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “Is that how you see me? Possibly you have a point. There is a degree of truth in what you say. Perhaps I do treat you all too much like chess pieces. But this is not a game Sirius, although it is indeed a strategic process. And you, the Order, are my soldiers; my army.

“Your pawns!”

“No Sirius, not pawns. Soldiers. We all have our parts to play, but if you wish to use the chess analogy, then Harry is the king. If we lose him, we lose all. The rest of us – _all_ of us – are expendable. Some of us will see this through and some will not. So, Sirius, if you are not one of the ones who is left on the board at the end of the game, who will be left behind to remember you with love? Real love?”

Sirius was nonplussed. “Harry? Remus?”

“Harry loves you, yes, but he doesn’t know you. He loves you for what you were to his father. And Remus loves you for the past you shared and the boy you were. But who is there who loves you only for what you are now?”

 _“Julia?_ ” Sirius whispered. “Does Julia _love_ me?” He thought it was unlikely.

This was the first time he had ever seen Dumbledore exhibiting spontaneous irritation. “You will have to ask her yourself, Sirius. I am not operating a lonely hearts club!”

Sirius was pleased to see that although he might have lost everything else of himself, his ability to annoy people was undiminished.

“I committed a grave error,” said Dumbledore, “when I requested that Julia come here without telling her what to expect. I will ask her to come back. Whether she will or not, I do not know. If she won’t, well, we will deal with that if we have to. And if she does, she deserves to know what she is dealing with.”

Dumbledore drew his robe around him. “Your future is in your own hands, Sirius. How you choose to venture into that unknown region is your decision. Do not let your fear paralyse you.”

He paused, looking at Sirius thoughtfully. “There is something else.  This”-  he gestured around him. “This privilege may be a matter of indifference to you. I doubt if you have ever thought about its implications, in fact. Were you ever to have any sort of obligation or responsibility, you may wish to use some of it in a positive way. I shall say no more on the matter.”

He moved towards the door.

“Before you go,” said Sirius, “I’ve got a question. Who is the White Goddess?”

Dumbledore turned back. Sirius thought he looked almost amused. “Is your brain truly as pickled as all that? If you really can’t remember for yourself, I suggest you ask your friend Remus. I have to be going. If I were you, I would engage in a little housekeeping, and keep your fingers crossed.”

 

 

Cleaning had never been a particular interest of his, but practice made perfect and after half an hour or so, he was getting quite good at it. As he worked at removing decades of sooty dust and cobwebs from the tapestry, Kreacher appeared. The elf seemed uneasy and was uncharacteristically sycophantic.

“Master Sirius does not need to dirty himself with such a humble task, sir. Kreacher will do it! Kreacher will be honoured to clean the glorious tapestry, sir!”

“Fuck off, Kreacher,” he said, without heat. The elf did not move.

He sighed. “Not clear enough? Go. Away. Kreacher!”

With a reluctant _pop!_ the elf disappeared.

As he cleaned, he studied the tapestry, which, though familiar, he had never looked at with anything other than resentment and contempt. _All those generations_ , he thought, _one on another, over all those years._ All sitting heavy on his shoulders. No wonder that sometimes he felt as if he carried a great weight about with him. Looking closer, he found some now-familiar names. He counted; fourteen generations back from him, there she was; Yersinia Black, who had married Scorpius Malfais. And below them, a burned out mark, the name still barely legible beside it. Charon Malfais.

Obviously Sirius’s own mother had not been the first to expunge unwanted blood traitors from this woven record of arrogance and power.

Engrossed in his task, he did not notice the transition of day into night until, unexpectedly, the thin light of the waxing moon sliced through the tall windows and settled upon the tapestry. And there it was - the key! Illuminated, woven in silver at the top of the ancient drapery, a hidden pattern was revealed. Lines of text written in runes and framed by two snakes, each one holding the tail of the other in its mouth.

Sirius wished he was not making this discovery alone. He wished Julia was at his side making it with him. And for the first time, he admitted that he missed her.

 

In Julia’s bedroom he removed the shredded robe from under the pillow and burned it in the fireplace. Then he cleaned the bloodstained sheets and straightened the bed, making a second-rate but functional job of mending the torn mattress, and removing the feathers which had settled everywhere. Then he went downstairs and ate a piece of stale cake and a packet of biscuits he found in the kitchen, took fresh water to Buckbeak, and finally, lay against the hippogriff’s warm body and slept.                       

 

Next day, he went back into the front bedroom. He had not bothered to repair the gouges in the plaster or even to clean up the broken glass and soot. There were still bloodstains on the walls and floor, and the room stank. She had been right about that, as she seemed to be about most things.

Half a bottle of wine was tucked into the torn upholstery of a couch. He pulled out the cork and sniffed it. He was not sure if it smelled appealing or disgusting. Reflectively, he picked up a piece of glass and felt the sharp edge. By way of an experiment, he punched the wall, but he lacked conviction, and he did not even make a dint. It still hurt though. He sucked his knuckles, and repaired them. Then he set about cleaning up the grisly mess. He took the bottle into the bathroom and tipped the contents down the toilet, feeling oddly free.

When he thought he had done enough in there, he went to his mother’s bedroom. Although the hippogriff was indifferent to the unsanitary conditions, the room resembled nothing so much as a gigantic litter tray. Girding his loins, he cleaned in there too.

Late in the evening he tried to sleep but was agitated and impatient, trying not to think about how he would feel if Julia did not come back.  He gave up, and spent some time methodically catching rats for Buckbeak. He no longer fancied them himself; he had been spoiled.

By the time the grey sky was turning pink with dawn he was lying in the bath; and as the first warm rays of the sun shone through the east-facing window and drifted over him he thought about Julia and felt feverish with hope.

Would she come back? he wondered as he dried himself. He would get dressed just in case. He felt, almost, a sense of occasion, and found an enjoyable novelty in investigating the contents of his father’s wardrobe.

Once, he remembered, years ago, he had found pleasure in the texture of velvet and silk and leather, in rich colours and decorations; not the ubiquitous black and grey and brown that was all he saw these days. In his youth he had taken pride in his appearance; in the careless good looks he had taken for granted. His birthright.

He found a delicate lawn dress shirt with mother of pearl buttons and fine pleating on the front, and tied one of his mother’s rich green silk scarves around his neck, bandana-style.

Then he went down to the kitchen, lit the range, and waited.       

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 **Sirius was still in the kitchen** when he heard the front door open and close again. She was back. Though he tried, he could not help grinning like a fool and was glad no-one was there to see.

Padfoot had no such inhibitions. She was back! His Julia was back! He was so pleased! Barking in excitement, he could not get to the hall fast enough and skidded on the tiles in his eagerness, almost knocking her over. That had not been part of the plan, but she did not seem to mind.

She was happy to see him too, he could tell! She dropped to her knees and hugged him, finding the itchy spot on his neck that no-one had scratched for days.

"Padfoot! Sweetie, at least you're glad to see me!"

Of course he was! He checked that she tasted the same, which she did. Then she kissed him on his nose. Kissed him!

"I wonder if Sirius will be so pleased to see me?

 _Yes, yes he will_. Padfoot wagged his tail and tried to reassure her.

She got to her feet. "I suppose I'd better go and find him." She seemed slightly apprehensive.

_Sirius? Ah!_

_._

He dashed upstairs to the second floor and composed himself. He could hear her trying to find him, as he strolled to the landing gallery and peered over.

She knew he was there and looked up at him. "I've come back," she said, stating the obvious.

He walked languidly downstairs. "So I see." He schooled his expression into what he hoped was indifference.

"I owe you an apology," she said. That was the last thing he expected to hear, and was taken aback.

The best reply he could manage was, "Oh, why?"

"I had a visit from Professor Dumbledore."

He cleared his throat. "Ah. Me too." He wondered what Dumbledore had said to her but did not really care. She was back.

"I didn't understand," said Julia. "I thought I knew, but I really didn't, what they put you through in Azkaban."

.

There was a stain on the wall that looked rather like Kreacher. He had never noticed it before.  _What?_   _What had Dumbledore told her? What did she know_?

"You are a strong man, Sirius, and a good one too."

No he wasn't.

"Look at me, Sirius! Not looking at me won't make me go away!"

He did not want her to go away, and he did look at her. Why had he not wanted to before? He could have floated for hours in the warm comfort of her eyes.

He put his hand out to her, and she took it. He wondered if he would ever be able to let go.

"Come with me." He led her upstairs to his mother's old room, and opened the door. "I want you to meet Buckbeak."

"Oh Sirius!" she clutched his arm. He liked that. It made him feel strong and protective.

"A hippogriff! Oh I never, ever thought"- she moved forward a little. He nearly pulled her back but stopped himself in the nick of time. She stood a respectable distance away from the animal.

She knew what she was doing. She always knew what she was doing. Still, his mouth was dry with anxiety.

"Buckbeak", said Julia, "it truly is an honour to meet such a fine, handsome and heroic beast." She slowly got to her knees before the beast, keeping her eyes fixed on Buckbeak's beady black ones. After several seconds the hippogriff bent his forelegs and bowed before her.

Sirius swallowed in relief. "That was a brave thing to do. They're not predictable animals."

"You'd have rescued me if anything went wrong," she said. "I know you would."

_Yes._

_._

They stayed with Buckbeak for a while and Julia fed him biscuits. Sirius watched her fingers feeding the cruel beak and wanted to feel them on his own skin, on his face, in his hair.

Eventually, he stood up and pulled her to her feet. "I haven't been completely idle while you were gone. Come to the drawing room."

He took her to the tapestry.

She reached out and touched it. "So I see. This looks different. What have you done?"

"I cleaned it."

She raised her eyebrows. "Is there no end to your talents?"

 _Sharp._  "You want to be careful you don't cut yourself on that."

"On what?" she looked confused.

"Your tongue."

"Ouch!" She grinned at him, and something snapped inside him.

"I found something," he told her. "You need to look at it tonight. After dark. You'll need your notebook."

"Sounds intriguing," she said. "Have you been eating properly?"

Had she brought food? She had brought food! He wondered if she would mind if he kissed her now, but thought it might be pushing his luck.

.

After they had eaten, and it occurred to Sirius, too late, that she might have wanted to save some for the next day, she pulled a chair up in front of the stove and closed her eyes. Soon she was fast asleep, emitting an occasional gentle snore. He watched her for a while, but felt as if he was spying, so he washed the dishes then went up to the dim and empty drawing room where he lay down on a couch, until the moonlight drifting through the tall windows settled cool on his face.

* * *

.

Julia was still asleep. He tickled her cheek, laughing at her as she woke, brushing his hand away in annoyance. "Wake up, sleeping beauty, it's dark and the moon's up. Come on"

He took her hand - which was definitely becoming a habit now - and they went upstairs to the drawing room.

Julia gasped in amazement. He would have been disappointed in her if she had not. She let go of his hand and walked towards the tapestry, wide eyed. "My God, Sirius!"

"I can't read it," he said. "I'm glad you came back."

She squinted. "My bloody eyesight isn't good enough. Let me go and get the ladder from the library."

"Don't be daft," he said. "I'll get it for you." He flicked his wand " _Accio, Steps!"_ The rickety ladder arrived with a rattle and a bump.

"Oh, thanks!" she said surprised. "Gosh, I wish I could do magic."

He had never heard her say that before.

She climbed up on to the ladder. He was alarmed to see how unsteady it looked; he really needed to do some maintenance. "For goodness sake be careful!"

She frowned at him. "Don't fuss, Sirius". Without warning, the dilapidated steps wobbled violently and she grabbed at the rail.

"Julia! Merlin's beard you silly woman!" Sirius caught her and steadied her. He suspected that she would probably have managed by herself but he thought it best to be on the safe side.

She tried to pull away. "I'm fine, Sirius. Just got a bit dizzy."

He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. She looked tired.

"You look exhausted."

"I haven't been sleeping well," she said.

"Me neither," he whispered.

He thought he heard her breath catch a little. The end of her tongue touched her upper lip.

She felt so slight in his arms, he was afraid to hold her too firmly. And when he kissed her then, he held himself in check and did not crush his mouth to hers to devour her as he thought he could.

It was so sweet, that kiss, but he wanted more; he wanted to pull her to him, grind his hard cock against her hips, pull her beneath him on to the shabby couch, slide his hands under her clothes. . . and then she pulled away.

There was sadness in her voice. "Sirius, no. I can't go through that again. Not now."

He remembered the hurt he had left in her eyes the last time, when he had been so cruel. Bitter regret filled him. He had cocked everything up as usual, hadn't he?

Then she stroked the tips of her fingers across his lips with tenderness, with. . . longing? She did still want him, he could tell, and he fixed all his hope on that like a beacon in the dark.

He wondered that he was able to speak "You're right."

She climbed back on to the ladder. "Don't hover, Sirius. You're like an old woman."

 _An old woman?_  He wished she would let him show her how far from the truth that was.

* * *

.

When he thought he had waited a respectable amount of time after she had gone to bed, he padded to her room and scratched at the door.

She opened the door and smiled down at him, rubbing his head.

"Want some company?"

_Yes! Yes!_

"Come on, dog, I know I do."

She climbed back into bed and he got up beside her. She put her arms around him and he thought his doggy heart might burst with joy until he realised she was crying. He licked the salty water from her cheeks.

"What have I done Padfoot? How can I have been so bloody stupid! Can you hear it sweetie? Can you hear my heart breaking? It hurts, it really does!" She pressed his head to her breast which was rather nice, and he listened. He could not hear her heart breaking but he could hear it beating rather fast and he could hear the breath in her lungs and the misery in her voice. And vaguely, he knew it was his fault. As everything else that went wrong was his fault. And he wanted to say sorry.

Thank you for coming, Sweetie," she said. "I thought you had abandoned me."

 _No. Never_. He licked her face and her hands and tried to tell her. She was so tired that before long, she fell asleep.

She was in such a deep slumber, he wondered if, just for a moment, he could be with her properly. Just for a moment.

He knew, oh yes, he knew he should not. But still he slipped under the covers beside her. Her t-shirt had rucked up around her waist and he could feel her legs and hips and bottom against him. Helplessly, he touched her belly with his fingertips and she arched towards him.

"You're a dream," she murmured.

"Yes, a dream," he agreed, in a whisper. He had not meant to do this. He had not. Had he?

But her legs parted and she moaned as his fingers slipped into the delicate flesh; and she was so hot and wet and soft – and he was so hard. He moved over her and as he slid into her body, the voice in his head screamed,  _I hurt Julia, I hurt!_   _Stop it hurting!_

He did not know he had spoken aloud until she whispered, "I know you do, my love," and he felt tears wet in her hair. And when he withdrew from her, he stroked the smooth softness of her skin for as long as he dared.

He wondered that he could ever have been rough with her, when she felt so small, so fragile; as if she might break under his touch.

Then he knew everything he had with her now was based on a lie; and every day he did not tell her; and every night that Padfoot spent by her side, compounded it. But he could not keep away. The taste of deception was bitter in the back of his throat.

When he left her in the early morning he went upstairs where he laid his head against Buckbeak's warm flank and cried caustic tears for his lies, stupidity and loneliness.

.


	8. Secrets and Keys

Julia was sitting cross legged on the stained carpet in front of the tapestry with her books and papers spread out in front of her. Sirius found he had grown used to seeing her there, and for a little while he watched from the doorway.

There was nowhere in this house he did not see his past. He saw his mother and his father and Regulus and James. Everywhere, he saw James. Sometimes he was laughing and sometimes he was serious; but more often, he was dead. When Julia was gone would he see her as well? Would she be sitting there on the drawing room floor or at the kitchen table or climbing the great staircase towards him, even though she had left him too?

She turned, and started at seeing him. He squatted on the floor beside her.

“How are you getting on?”

She smiled at him. “I’ve translated the text from the tapestry. It was mostly pretty straightforward except for one thing.” She showed him what she had written. “These two runes at the top, you must recognise those.”

He did. “‘Noble’, and then ‘Great House’, that’s fairly self-explanatory. And the one for ‘Black’.”

She nodded. “Then here, it says, ‘The blood will remember the son behind the son but the touch of unclean flesh will mean destruction.’ And then this word. It’s phonetic and spells out, _‘Viha?’_ I don’t know what that means.”

He did not recall ever hearing it before but it sent a chill down his spine. “I don’t recognise it. I’ll have to think about it.”

She looked directly at him, her expression serious.

“I need to ask you some more questions. If you can stand it.”

He wished he could take his cruel words back. Apologising was something he had practically forgotten how to do; not that he had ever been much good at it. He should give it some thought.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Nervously, she picked at the corner of her thumbnail. “The day I left”- 

He looked at the carpet. She seemed worried about reminding him, as if she needed to protect him in some way. He really must think about that apologising business.

 -“I found something in the attic. A stack of paintings of house elves, do you know them?”

He thought he did remember something. “As I recall they used to hang downstairs but were too dreadful even for my mother.”

“The house elves,” she said. “It’s hard for me to get my head round this, it makes me uncomfortable.

He got to his feet and put a hand out to her, pulling her up. “You’re not on your own. Hermione is quite militant about it.”

“Bright girl,” said Julia. “Maybe there’s hope for you people yet.”

He could not help grinning. She knew how to put him in his place, but he found he did not mind.

“I’m ashamed to say,” he said, “I never thought about it. The house elves were just…there, in the family, like - I don’t know - some sort of family heirloom.”

Julia scowled, “That is repellent.”

“I suppose.” He thought about the house-elves and seemed to recall from when he was very small, another elf. Tiny, wizened and ancient. He had understood that was Kreacher’s mother. It had never seemed important and she had disappeared from his consciousness by the time he was five. He supposed she had been incorporated into the repulsive row of shrunken heads that lined the stairs. Perhaps it was even the one he had carelessly discarded in the umbrella stand.

Then it had just been Kreacher. And did Kreacher have children? He thought not, but in fact he really did not know, and the idea disoriented him.

Along with the others, he had laughed at Hermione behind her back, but now he found himself thinking differently and was ashamed.

What had happened to him? He groped for his anger and found that though, perhaps, it was still there, the kind of strength it offered no longer appealed.

 

He looked at Julia’s profile noticing the graceful line of her neck and the way a stray lock of hair waved on her cheek. He admired her economy of movement; her intelligence and wit. He even liked her impatience and sharp tongue; and he wondered if, next week or next month maybe-

“I think your house elf is the key to this.” She opened her notebook. “Remember Malfais says ‘the secret will be held by the childrens' children of my servant’?”

He grunted, distracted.   

“Well, he was a wizard. I keep forgetting that. I didn’t think; I assumed he was talking about an ordinary muggle servant. But he wasn’t. The servant was a house elf! Sirius, the same family of elves have been in the service of your family since – well - forever, more or less haven’t they?”

Some of the disused cogs in Sirius’s brain began to turn.                                                                                       

“Well, those are the servants who can tell you the way.”

“Bloody hell!” He cursed “No wonder he didn’t want me to clean the tapestry! Kreacher! KREACHER!”

With a sharp _crack!_ the elf was there before them, hissing with ire.

Sirius had to acknowledge that his new-found sympathy for the plight of house-elves did not, in any meaningful way, extend to Kreacher. He found the elf as repulsive as ever.

“I don’t know where you’ve been Kreacher, and I don’t care. Tell me, what secret have you been asked to keep for this family?”

Kreacher’s bulbous, bloodshot eyes were filled with sour fury. He began to sob and fling his head against the fireplace “Kreacher will guard the family’s secret with his life. Kreacher will never reveal the secret to the Muggle filth and Blood Traitors!” Little flecks of blood began to fly about.

With considerable repugnance, Sirius grabbed him by one leathery ear. “I order you to tell me!”

The elf cackled with vicious glee,  “Ah thou knowest not the question! Thou knowest not!”

“We do know the question,” said Julia unexpectedly.

Sirius looked at her, puzzled. “We do know,” she repeated.

The final cogs slotted into place.

“The dirty Muggle shall not speak to Kreacher! Kreacher shall not answer!” He spat green froth at Julia’s feet. She flinched, an expression of repulsion on her face.

Sirius was beside himself with rage and drew back his fist to punch the elf but Julia grabbed his arm. “Sirius no! Just ask him!”

Why did a simple contact like that drain the anger from him?

“Kreacher,” he demanded, “what is the way to the place of bones?”

The elf gave a shrill howl. Sirius had to let go of Kreacher’s ear in order to clap his hands over his own. Kreacher grabbed the heavy brass poker and began to wallop himself with considerable force.

“The beginning of the way liest beneath the old Court. Follow the Grim well and in the House of Mithras the seventh gate will lead to the place. He whose blood carryeth the blood of the creator alone will have the power to undo what may yet be done!”

And then with a sharp _crack!_ he was gone.

“That was traumatic!” said Julia looking stunned.

“Disgusting more like,” said Sirius, wiping his hands on his jeans to try and get rid of the lingering greasy feeling. “So what did that lot mean?”

“I think I know the first part,” said Julia. “I need to write down what he said. Help me remember. Something about the House of Mithras, the seventh gate and the Grim. That’s like a big black dog isn’t it? Padfoot? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Doesn’t mean a thing to me.”

“Come on, let’s get something to eat, and then I’m going to get an early night. I need to catch up on my sleep.”

“Didn’t you sleep last night then?”

 _Last night. Oh Merlin, last night._ He started to get hard and turned away. This was potentially embarrassing.

* * *

 

 

Padfoot, however, thought it was an excellent idea and was waiting by her bedroom door when she returned from the bathroom smelling of soap and toothpaste.

In the stillness, listening happily to Julia’s steady breathing, with her hand tucked into the fur of his neck, Sirius and Padfoot discussed the practicalities of coming clean to her. But how could he tell her now?

If she asked, he would not lie. So if only she would ask him if he was, in fact, Padfoot, then he could tell her. He would tell her anything. If she only asked.

A thin beam of moonlight infiltrated a narrow gap in the curtains and bisected the bed, falling in a line across Julia’s face. The White Goddess, he thought complacently, they had already found that key. Something tickled at the back of his mind; an irritation that would not fade. Between the two of them they pondered, until all of a sudden another piece of the puzzle dropped into place.

The White Goddess. The moon. How could he have forgotten?

His paws briefly landed on Julia’s chest and she gave a winded “Oof!” as he jumped off the bed and shot out of the door.

 “Wha’?” “Padfoot!”

He heard a bump and a groggy curse behind him as she fell out of bed.

Sirius was waiting for her when she stumbled out into the corridor in pursuit.

“Sirius?” She rubbed her eyes. “What on earth are you doing here? Don’t you ever sleep? Where’s Padfoot?”

“Never mind that now, I need to show you something. Come on!”

“Stop, Sirius! Let me put some clothes on first.”

She was wearing just a t-shirt. It barely covered her bottom and he was fairly sure she was not wearing any knickers.

“Not on my account,” he said optimistically.

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, and went back into her room. Sirius rearranged himself and waited until she returned, wearing a pair of jeans.

Taking her hand, he led her up to his old room on the third floor, and paused outside the door for a minute, finding himself unexpectedly reluctant to enter. He pulled himself together and turned the knob.

 

“This was your bedroom?” She looked around at the dog-eared posters on which he had expended a great deal of energy, fixing them to the walls so that his mother could not remove them. She picked up a picture frame from a table and wiped the dust off.

Damn. Why was her instinct so infallible?

She looked at it with faint interest, then suddenly she recognised it.

“Oh Sirius, this is you! You were so beautiful.” She stroked the photograph with the tips of her fingers and he felt a tingle under his skin.  She looked up at him and he could see the shine of tears in her eyes. “What have they done to you?”

He found he did not mind Julia looking sorry for him as much as he minded say, Molly, looking sorry for him, but he still felt wrong-footed. He had no idea how to deal with it and she recognised his discomfort.

“Well, I assumed that it was being in prison that had made you bad tempered, but now I see it’s congenital.”

“It runs in the family,” he said. “Like noses.” She giggled.

Sirius paused in thought for a few seconds trying to recall where the object of the exercise was. He rummaged at the back of a cluttered table behind a Muggle electric guitar with three remaining strings which he had never been able to play, although he had enjoyed the annoyance it caused his mother. Yes, there it was. With his sleeve he brushed a cloud of dust away from the intricately carved bone object mounted on a plain black wooden base.

“This is what I came for. It’s a moon globe. Very old. It has been passed down to the first born Black sons for hundreds of years. It was made by some Italian wizard. I forget his name.”

He had not forgotten at all, but thought Julia really did not need any further distractions at this moment; and finding out that Leonardo da Vinci had been a wizard might throw her off track. He could tell her later.

Julia studied it closely. “Sirius, this seems very accurate. It’s unbelievable! Wizard or not, how did he know all this so long ago?”

He shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps later, there would be an opportunity to discuss the few abortive explorations and early wizarding experiments in interplanetary travel which had eventually been given up as a bad job due to the terminally high casualty rate.

“This is what we want.” A narrow drawer in the base of the stand slid smoothly open when he touched it. Julia gasped audibly.

“No one else can open it,” he said. “Only the son of Black, which is me obviously. It’s got a blood memory.”

Now was not the time, but one day he would like to tell her how it felt; the blood memory. How an inanimate object felt as if it moved and sighed under your touch. How it was like a feather tickling under your fingernails. Unbearable, unreachable.

Inside the drawer, on a bed of frayed green silk was a tarnished metal ring about six inches across. It was formed of two snakes, each with the tail of the other in its mouth. He held it out to Julia. With some hesitation, she took it from him.

“It’s a torc! This is ancient. It looks Saxon! It must be incredibly valuable!” she looked awestruck.

It was just another bit of junk in a house full of junk as far as he was concerned. But this one might be useful. “It’s Goblin silver,” he said. “I bow to your superior knowledge on the rest of it.”

She yawned. “It’s very interesting Sirius, but there’s nothing we can do now. You might be happy to stay up all night but I need to sleep. We’ll make a plan in the morning.”

* * *

 

 

At breakfast they sat at the kitchen table, with the torc in front of them. Between bites of toast and marmalade Julia began to speak.

“While I was – back home,”- she looked at him anxiously. He wished she would stop doing that.

“You went to see Arthur.” he interrupted.

“Oh! I did. I’m sorry. I should have minded my own business.” She looked upset.

“No,” he said, “you shouldn’t. It’s a long time since anyone minded my business. You were right to go.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thank you.”

She seemed flummoxed.

“Yes, well, I spent some time comparing your map,” she nodded to where it lay rolled up at the other end of the table, “with a modern map of the city, and I did a bit of field work too. I went to see the collapsing area where I think the abbey was. I couldn’t get in. It does look very unstable and they have twenty-four hour security so I don’t see any point in trying to get through from that end.

“I did a lot of walking around. It was interesting, seeing how little remains from before the fire. He did his job very thoroughly, you know, Malfais. He was no fool.”

In his mind’s eye, Sirius pictured Julia walking the streets of the city. And in his mind she was always alone, like him. He wondered at it. There must have been people in her life. Men? Women even? Certainly, she had been no blushing virgin. . .

_Stop it._

She had never mentioned a boyfriend or partner or – what if – his blood ran hot then cold for a second, then he thought, _No, Dumbledore would have had something to say about that._ Soon, when he felt more sure of himself, he might ask her what she had been waiting for.

She told him how she had found a mysterious door at the end of a railway station platform, close to the site of Black Court; and described how, although it wasn’t invisible, no one seemed to quite see it.

“A misdirection charm, I think?”

“Yeah, like in Star Wars when Obi-Wan says to the stormtroopers, ‘These aren’t the ‘droids you’re looking for.’”

Julia dropped her toast on the floor. He hoped he would never grow tired of surprising her.

“You’ve seen Star Wars?”

“Julia, I was eighteen in nineteen seventy seven. Of course I’ve seen Star Wars. D’you think I lived under a rock?”

She looked blank and he guessed she probably had thought precisely that.

“Look,” she showed him her notebook. “This is what I drew. There are those two runes again, and there is a recess in the door this shape.”

“Oh. That’s”-

“It’s the same shape as the torc. Looks about the same size too. I think it’s a key of some sort.”

Sirius picked up the torc. “I don’t think it’s enchanted. What do you think?” He passed it to her.

“No,” she said, touching it to her mouth. “There are no spells on this. That’s a good thing I suppose.”

“So if that is a key and it will open the door, the next question is, what’s behind it?”

Julia went to the other end of the table and beckoned him over.

She laid the map out and showed him a faint meandering line.

“I’m not entirely sure what this is, but I’m guessing - hoping - it’s an underground passage between the two buildings. I think the door I found leads to the entrance that used to be under Black Court.”

Sirius scrutinised the map doubtfully. “There are dozens of lines on here. Are they all passages? It seems a bit unlikely doesn’t it?”

She looked depressed. “I know, but it’s the only idea I’ve got. Anyway that door is definitely enchanted, and with those runes on, it’s got to be connected somehow.”

Sirius sat down again, stretched back in his chair and rubbed his stomach, pleased to see that her eyes followed the movement of his hands. She licked her lips.

_Stop. Now._

 “This is all very well Julia, but how are we going to do this?”

She looked at him for a second, not understanding, then her face fell.

“Bloody hell. I hadn’t thought!”

He had suspected as much.

“I’ll have to do it alone won’t I?” she said, miserably. “There’s no one else.”

“Don’t be stupid. There’s no way you can do this on your own. Merlin knows what will be down there, or what obstacles there will be. I’ll have to come with you.”

She didn’t like him calling her stupid! That had definitely touched a nerve.

Her voice was sharp. “It would be suicidal idiocy for you to go! The Dementors are running out of control and they want you. The moment you leave the house, they’ll know where you are.”

She was right. As usual. Dared he suggest –

“Why don’t you take Padfoot? You know he’s not – an ordinary dog. He’ll understand what you need him to do.”

“Padfoot?” she looked surprised and thoughtful. “I wonder? But will you be all right, here on your own?”

He felt extremely awkward “Why are you worried about that?”

“Well for goodness sake, Sirius, I don’t like to think of you rattling around this horrid place on your own. For crying out loud, I care about you! God knows I wish I didn’t, and you don’t deserve it, but I do. So there.”

“Oh.” _Oh Merlin. Sweetheart._

She glowered at him. “You are such an idiot. Go and find your dog.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments very welcome!


	9. In the Place of Bones

For the rest of the day, Sirius was in such a state of feverish anticipation at the prospect of getting out of the house that he kept deliberately out of Julia’s way. He knew he would not be able to hide his excitement.

After a rather dull evening meal consisting mainly of bread and cheese, they sat at the kitchen table. He knew he was twitchy and Julia was suspicious and wary.

“What’s the matter with you? You haven’t changed your mind about me taking Padfoot, have you?”

“No, of course I haven’t! It’s really the only solution isn’t it?

“I can’t think of anything else,” she admitted. “We’ll have to go to my flat first, so that I can get any things we might need.”

He tried to imagine her home. What was it like? Not like this damn place he was sure. It would be clean, warm and welcoming. Not damp and mildewed, with vermin living in the gaps between the floorboards and ceilings, and beetles eating the rafters.

She was still speaking. “Padfoot will draw too much attention on public transport, so we’ll have to walk. We need to be leaving early, in order to get to my place before people are going to work.”

She was in charge. Sirius stood up. “Julia, remember to call Padfoot ‘Snuffles’ when you’re outside.”

“I will,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

That made him uncomfortable, because he knew she would not see Sirius again until this business was over, one way or another.

As she passed him, he could not resist the urge to touch her, and lifted the palm of his hand against her soft cheek. She turned her face into it and he felt the swiftest press of a kiss. He pulled away, knowing that if he did not move then, he would not move at all. The imprint of her lips warmed his hand for some time.

Early next morning, he filled a bath with water for Buckbeak and made sure enough doors were open on the upper floors so that the beast could roam the house and hunt for himself while they were away. Then he went downstairs and waited for Julia in the entrance hall.

She put her rucksack down by the door. “Where’s Sirius? I thought he would have come to see us off.” She looked up the stairs. “Oh heavens, I wonder if he’s upset because I’m taking you away, Padfoot? I know he said he didn’t mind, but still - wait here, let me try and find him.”

She was gone for several minutes and when she came back, she was close to tears. “I can’t find him anywhere sweetie. I think he’s hiding from me. I wish he wouldn’t do that, it’s no good for him!”

When they had walked out on to the worn steps at the front of the house, the shabby door closed behind them with a decisive clunk. Outside, the air was cool and damp; rich with smells and promise.

After walking for a few minutes Julia guided him to the end of a quiet side street where the gate in a wrought iron fence led into a small park.

 “It’s going to be a glorious day,” she said, “It’s so good to be away from that awful house. It saps your energy. No wonder Sirius is going off the rails stuck in there.”

Padfoot agreed.

She unhooked the makeshift lead she had fashioned from oddments ferreted out in the scullery, and slapped his side. “Go on, have a bit of a run.”

Free at last, he raced joyfully across the wet grass, stretching his legs and back, feeling the air in his coat and the blood rushing through his veins. He investigated the flower beds and shrubbery, discovering all manner of excitingly flavoured scraps hidden in paper bags and cartons.

A flock of pigeons enticed him. He remembered pigeons, they were a lot of fun. An old woman was feeding them seeds from a paper bag, and when he ran towards them, sending them clattering into the clear sky, she shouted, “Gerrorfofit yer mangy mutt!” and swatted at him with a rolled up newspaper.

He ran back to Julia for reassurance but she laughed at him, and a little hurt, he retired to the shrubbery again. Julia sat down on a bench and lifted her face up into the morning sun, her eyes closed in pleasure. Padfoot rested his head on her lap and sniffed affectionately at her crotch.

Those carefree minutes were short lived. Julia sighed and reattached the lead. “We’ll have to go”, she said, “we’ve got a long walk.”

The roads were quiet; with little traffic; just a few bin lorries and the occasional police car. Julia led Padfoot up a flight of steel stairs and along a concrete walkway. He sat and waited while she searched for her door key.

 “I’m not supposed to have pets, Snuffles, let’s not draw attention.” She ushered him inside.

She opened the door on to her balcony and a cool breeze blew in, ruffling his coat.

He was very interested in Julia’s flat. It was, as he had supposed it would be, dry and clean but not as tidy as he had expected. He considered tidiness to be overrated in any case. He checked out the corners and under the furniture.

“Found anything?” she said. “Ghouls, boggarts, doxys?”

He thought she was being silly. He would not have expected to find any of those things.

She emptied her rucksack out on to the carpet. Padfoot helpfully looked at the pile with her, and disposed of a few biscuit crumbs, but the rest of it held no appeal and he abandoned her, ventured out on to the balcony and dozed for a bit. He was woken by a grumpy terrier in the park below barking up at him and he enthusiastically responded in kind. Julia dashed out and shooed him indoors, scolding. “You’re not supposed to draw attention, you stupid dog! Behave yourself!”

Humiliated, he crawled under her coffee table and whined until she relented and scratched his neck.

“I’m going to take a shower while I can,” she told him “You’ll keep your eyes open for intruders won’t you?”

A little while later, she walked naked into the bedroom. Sirius and Padfoot watched her with considerable interest. He had never really seen her nude, and he hoped he would have an opportunity to do it properly before too much longer. To appreciate her fully with his eyes; and show her how much he liked her, with his voice and hands and mouth.

She stood by a box in the corner of the room for a moment, and all of a sudden pictures started moving on it; and noises came out of it too. This was much more interesting than the usual pictures he saw, which only moved a bit and didn’t say much. Apart, from the obnoxious picture of his mother of course, and the painting of his great-great grandfather, which, on the infrequent occasions when it saw him, tended to expound at length on his shortcomings.

There were whole stories happening in front of him now. He had a recollection of seeing something similar years ago, but this was great! He did not want to move when Julia made it stop and nudged him with her foot.

“Come along, square-eyes, time to go.”

The daylight was fading when they reached the railway station. There were a few people milling about, and now and then an impenetrable voice echoed in the air above. He could smell metal, oil and coffee. He followed Julia to the end of the platform and sat alert, with his back to her while she fiddled about with the door; but no-one paid them any attention.

He heard a mechanical clicking behind him and she gave a grunt of satisfaction. He scrambled to his feet. The door was swinging open and she was peering in.

“Only one way to go now." She started to step into the darkness beyond the door.

_What was she doing? That was what he was there for!_

He pushed past her into the unknown and found himself at the top of a steep and narrow flight of steps.

 “Brave boy,” she said stepping in behind him. “You are looking after me, aren’t you?”

She was carrying something in her hand which seemed to give quite an adequate light, - _a torch, that’s it_ \- but for some reason she stopped and fiddled about with some smelly liquid and a contraption which proved to be a lamp. The light was not as bright as the torch, but he supposed she had her reasons. He had an idea it was something to do with a thing called a battery.

He kept his ears pricked and sniffed attentively. There had been no human in here for a very long time.

 

In a while, the steps they were descending began to grow damp and slimy. Behind him, he could hear Julia slipping and cursing, and his own big paws slid from time to time. Now and again she fell, struggling to keep the lamp upright, and he had to wait for her.

She was getting slower, and he had to pause more often to let her catch up, until she surprised him by sinking down on to her backside and wailing in misery.

“I can’t do it. What was I thinking? I’ve failed and now I’m going to die in this hole!”

Padfoot licked her face. She could not give up now, they were nearly at the bottom of the stairs, he could tell. She had some chocolate in her pocket; he remembered seeing her put it there. He sniffed to check. Yes, there it was, that would make her feel better. He nudged her side.

“What? Oh! Chocolate! Well why not? Here dog, a tiny bit. Chocolate is really bad for you.”

He took the fragrant morsel from her fingers with pleasure.

“I’m so glad Sirius didn’t see that little tantrum,” she said. “He wouldn’t have shown any mercy.”

She had a pretty low opinion of him didn’t she? He did not altogether blame her.

Soon, they reached the bottom of the steps and came out into a space that extended away overhead. Padfoot could not sense how far above them it stretched but he could smell water nearby. Julia rummaged in her bag and took out another torch, bigger than the small one she had been using. It gave a bright, wide beam of light and she swung it around. “There’s water down there! Is this some sort of well?”

Abruptly a rumbling began to develop off to one side. The sound increased, echoing around the shaft and making everything shake. It was terrifying. He cowered against Julia’s legs in fear. She stood very still, listening, but the sound died away as rapidly as it had begun.

“The underground,” she breathed. “It can only be a few yards away!

“This way, Padfoot,” she said, shining the torch on to a narrow shelf that followed the curve of the wall just above the level of the water. He went ahead of her on the precarious path, until they reached another opening at the opposite side and she followed him into the passage beyond.

The next part of the trek was easier, and Julia had no difficulty keeping up. It was traveling gently uphill and there was a thin stream of water running along the bottom back the way they had come. He splashed happily onwards, with Julia panting slightly behind. Before long, they came out into another tunnel. This was much bigger but there was a deep, fast flowing river running along the middle and they had to walk along a ledge that ran along the wall above the rushing water. He stopped to listen and to smell. There were movements of small animals plopping in and out of the water, and further away, something dangerous, cold blooded and scaly; but it was some way distant and had no interest in them.

“Let’s rest for a minute,” said Julia. “I need to refill the lamp.” She switched her torch on again and took a packet of biscuits out of her bag. She opened it and they shared most of the packet. She drank from a plastic bottle and Padfoot lapped water from the channel. It was clean and unpolluted, mostly; fresh from deep under the ground. When she had filled and relit the lamp they continued on.

They walked for a long time and Padfoot sensed that it was late at night. The flow of water was getting shallower and the walls closer together until it was barely wide enough for Julia to walk through, when they emerged into an open space and he trotted out with relief.

Julia switched her powerful torch on again and he heard her gasp.

“Look at that Padfoot! I can’t believe it! An honest to goodness Roman temple still surviving intact under the streets of London!”

Above them, the ceiling was high and arched although he torch beam did not trave far enough to show it clearly. Faintly he detected a sooty, burnt smell but it was very old. Water was trickling into a shallow pool surrounded by a low wall.  

“This must be the source of one of the lost rivers,” she breathed. “Which one? The Walbrook? Blackditch?” She tapped her chin. “No, the Grimwell I think,” She slapped herself on the forehead. “The Grimwell, of course! One word, not two. We are definitely on the right track!”

Padfoot sniffed around the side of the pool until he reached a large stone statue. When Julia shone her torch on it he saw the figure had a lion-like mane and snakes twined around the torso. For the first time, he was grateful for the private classics tutor his father had insisted on. He recognised Mithras.  

Julia walked around the perimeter of the space which was intersected at regular intervals by a number of dark openings, then she returned and sat on the wall.

“We need the seventh gate,” she said. “But which one is that?”

She stood again and walked to each doorway in turn shining the torch at letters which were carved at the top of each one. Then she laughed.

“Come on, Padfoot. This is it. The seventh gate.”

That led into a passageway made for elves, and Julia had to stoop. He could tell it was starting to hurt her by the way she complained about it, until they came out behind a stone wall. Stiffly, she straightened up, rubbing her neck.

The place was redolent with magic, age and death. Padfoot felt a sweeping sense of dread and an involuntary howl escaped him, Julia gave him a pat, but seemed unmoved and switched on her flashlight. Could she not feel what this place was? Did she not realise that the material crunching under her boots was the bones of his ancestors?

She began to walk down the centre of the chamber, shining the powerful torch around in awe.

“It’s an ossuary!” she said. “A charnel house. The Place of Bones. It must be here somewhere.”

Almost paralysed by fear, he stayed close by her, trying to touch her, His tail was tucked so stiffly between his legs it was almost painful. She shone the torch towards the far end of the space and stepped out with a renewed sense of purpose. She had seen something. Miserably, he followed her. The other end of the chamber was a different shape and was almost empty. She stopped in front of a large, pale stone chest with a statue of a man lying on top of it.

 

She pulled her rucksack off and put it by her feet, then put her big torch on top of the box, next to the figure. She had strapped a steel bar to the side of her rucksack. She unfastened it and passed it thoughtfully from hand to hand.

Turning back to the stone chest, she started to nudge the carved figure towards the back of the slab covering it. Padfoot watched anxiously, unable to help and not sure quite what she was trying to do. When she had managed to move the carving part of the way back, she stopped and looked at something that had been underneath.

She rubbed at it with her finger and read aloud, “ _Be sure adventurous one that the treasure within is truly what you seek for the touch of the impure means death. Only the blood of the son will remember_. _Viha._ Huh, nice.”

Padfoot whined impatiently. He wanted her to hurry up so that they could find a way out of this horrible place.

He did not see what Julia did next, but without warning, the statue slid to the back of the slab and it tipped without warning. The front flew up, missing Julia’s face by inches and it fell to the ground with a resounding crash, leaving the stone case open at the top.

Padfoot gave a sharp bark of alarm and Julia, shaken, bent down and put her hands on her knees breathing deeply and giving little moans of distress.

It was not just the cover that had been broken. In his bones, Padfoot felt the unmistakable breaking of powerful magical bonds and his fear intensified. He could hear the snapping of enchantments and felt how the structure of this place was weakening. He knew they had very little time.

Julia collected herself and she shone her torch into the chest. She must have seen what she expected, as she fumbled in her rucksack, took out a pair of heavy gloves and pulled them on.

She clambered on to the edge of the case and leaned over, reaching inside. She was struggling to move something, and she grunted with effort and frustration. After a minute she paused to rest, breathing heavily.

Padfoot sensed something coming loose overhead and barked. He jumped at her and she fell backwards.

“Padfoot, what on earth-?” She looked up as a shower of grit fell in front of her and jumped back just in time to avoid a chunk of falling masonry.

“Jesus, that was close!” More stones were falling further away. “Quick we’ve got to get that thing out before something falls on it!”

She climbed on to the side and reached in once more, but began to overbalance. In horror, somehow Padfoot managed to do what he had never done before and transformed one of his forelegs in order to grip the waistband of her jeans and drag her back from disaster. Shaking, she sobbed in shock, holding tightly on to his neck.

More heavy masonry fell close by. She looked up and he followed her gaze. Far above he could see the yellow lights of the streets overhead.

She could not do this, she was not big enough or strong enough. She tried to reach into the case again but it was no good.

He growled at her loudly, warning her back, and shrank down on his haunches.

“Padfoot what is it?”

He had not wanted it to be like this, he had wanted to tell her in his own time. Not like this. _I’m sorry._

Julia gave an involuntary scream and stared wide-eyed in horrified disbelief. “What the FUCK!”-

“Not now, Julia.” He was much bigger than her and had no difficulty in reaching the skeleton that lay inside. He could see an object that had once been clasped in the bony hands but was now encased in the collapsed ribcage. He tried to move the bones but everything was solid and would not budge. He understood why she had had so much difficulty.

He took a deep breath, and with all his weight behind it, he punched into the skeleton. He felt his newly healed knuckles shatter and only just managed not to scream out in pain. He wrenched the object from the bony cage.

“Something to wrap it in. Quickly, Julia there’s no time!” The hole in the roof was getting noticeably bigger and rocks were falling with increasing speed. Speechless, she pulled a sweater from her rucksack and he bound the object inside it.

“Your bag, hurry!” He stuffed the bundle in and thrust it back at her. “Move!” he dragged her out of the way just in time as a huge stone crashed on to the sarcophagus.

Then he heard what he had known he would hear. He had hoped there would be more time. Even a minute longer just to tell her -

“Oh fuck! No wand!” He knew that was an idiotic thing to say, even as he spoke. His capacity to make a patronus had left him on Halloween, fifteen years before.

Urgently, he grasped her shoulder. Julia, listen to me – _Viha!_ Tell Dumbledore! Don’t forget! Get out as soon as there’s a gap. Leave me here, just go!”

He was incapable of saying anything else, and as the faint light from overhead was blotted out in freezing blackness he fell, hopeless, to the ground, holding his head in his arms; trying to block out the infernal screaming.

He half-heard her beside him. “Sirius, for crying out loud, what’s happening?”

Helpless, passive, like a wet rag, he was lifted up, up into the shadows, and felt that thing on his face again, like slimy ice, wet and scaly. There was something in his mouth, like a tongue forcing its way deep into his throat, suffocating him, sucking the life from him, searching for his hidden, sad soul. . .

_There was so much – if only-_

_If only. . ._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Rehabilitation

 

It was cold; cold in his blood, cold in his bones. He was lifted into the air, a slimy tongue was in his mouth filling his throat, searching for his soul. . .

He was freezing. Inside and outside, he was freezing. He was thrown like a rag into the shadows, something foul was in his mouth, suffocating him. . .

Helpless, he was hurled upwards, and the scaly thing was on his face and he could not breathe. He was so very cold. The life was being sucked from him. . .

His blood had frozen; his bones were ice. Powerless, he was tossed into the air, and he was choking. It was vile, putrid. . .

He was so cold. So cold. So cold. . . and this, then, must be death.

 

But he was not so cold, in fact he was . . . warm. . .  

. . . Was he?

 

Were those arms he could feel around him? And a head on his chest? If this was death, perhaps it was not so bad after all. He needed to be sure.

Wanting to speak, he found his voice did not work. He tried again. “Not. . . dead?” he could hardly hear himself. It would have surprised him if anyone could.

A long sigh issued from the head on his chest. “No Sirius. Not yet.”

That meant the arms around him were not the embrace of death. They were Julia’s; and even now she could make a joke of him and he was glad. His hand was resting on his chest next to her head and he just managed to move his fingers enough to touch her hair.

“Do you want to be alone now?” she said.

 _No!_ screamed the voice in his head, _not alone!_ “No. . . please.” He did not have the strength for more than a whisper, but she stayed.

 

For a time he slept, but an incessant pounding in his head and lights flashing behind his eyelids pulled him into edgy wakefulness, and he gave an involuntary groan.

Then Julia was there lifting his head, spooning something into his mouth. It was sticky and tasted worse than dementors. Gagging, he spat it out but did not have the strength to spit properly and it lay sticky on his beard and chest.

“Oh Sirius!” she scolded, dabbing at him with a cloth, “you’re worse than a baby!” Then she did the only thing that could have persuaded him to swallow the revolting stuff. She started to cry.

“I can’t stand to see you like this, Sirius. I’m begging you, please take the medicine.” 

He tried to lift his arm, but it felt as if a dragon weight lay on him and he could barely touch her hand. His voice was ridiculously weak. “Please don’t cry, Julia. Give me the medicine.”

As foul as it tasted, there was no denying it was good stuff. After half an hour he was strong enough to murmur, “What happened? Why am I still alive?”

He felt her stroking his hair as she answered. “I can’t see the dementors you know, not properly. I didn’t know what was happening at first, and then they – lifted you up into the air. It was awful! I was so angry. If anyone is going to kill you it should be me.”

 In the soft dark, he smiled.

“I grabbed the crowbar and just ran at them. I must have been insane, but for some reason it made them drop you. You’ll have bruises.”

“Cold iron,” he breathed. “You’re such a clever woman.”

“Well, whatever. But it wouldn’t have worked for long. I was about to faint, I think, then out of the blue, Albus, Kingsley and Mundungus were there.”

“How -?”

“Albus said that Mundungus has been keeping an eye on the site. He knew something was happening when it suddenly started caving in, and he contacted Kingsley. They got there just in the nick of time. Albus brought you back here and fetched Madam Pomfrey from Hogwarts. I had to get a cab. That was mildly entertaining, but I’ll tell you about it another time.”

 

Once more, Sirius slept, and next time he woke, it was nearly light. His bladder was full but he did not feel capable of getting out of bed so he gritted his teeth and tried ignore it. After a time though, the pressure was becoming unbearable.

 “Help me up, Julia, I need to get out of bed.”

“Don’t be so silly, Sirius,” she said. “What you need to do is stay where you are.”

This was embarrassing. He gritted his teeth. “I need to get up. I need to take a piss and if you don’t help me you really will have problems.”

“Oh!” she said. “Why didn’t you say? I’ll get a bottle or something.”

_Merlin’s beard!_

“You’ll do no such thing! Get me up now!” With a colossal effort he threw back the covers.

“Oh honestly,” said Julia. “For goodness sake, if you must! Come on then,” She stood up and offered her arm.  He pulled himself up to sit on the side of the bed, and was overcome with blinding nausea and dizziness.

He retched horribly and started to sweat. Please Merlin, don’t let him throw up all over her feet. He would probably piss himself too _. Merlin, Please!_

She held his shoulders. “Are you okay? Are you going to be sick?”

He rested his head against her arm and swallowed several times. “No. Absolutely not.”

She waited till he had steadied. “Ready?”

He had to lean heavily on her while she helped him to the bathroom. As his balance returned and his sluggish circulation improved, he became aware of throbbing aches and stabbing pains all over; in his bones, in his belly, in his lungs. “Merlin,” he gasped, briefly putting his hand against the wall for support. “I hurt in places I didn’t know I had places.”

Julia rubbed his shoulder. “I told Albus what you said - you know - about ‘Viha’. He said it was the spell you have to use to destroy the relic. Sirius, I know you still aren’t strong, but he said we shouldn’t delay in dealing with the reliquary. And . . . thank you.”

He was confused. “For what?”

“You got the relic when I failed, even though you knew it would bring the dementors to you. Probably, you saved the world.

 _For Merlin’s sake, what an idiotic suggestion!_ “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not,” she said simply. “If you know anything about me by now, you know I don’t flatter and I don’t lie.”

Taking her hand, he looked at her. “Come on then, let’s do this thing. It’s time.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you want to put some clothes on first?”

He looked down at himself in faint surprise. Julia did not seem to be fazed by his nudity, so he saw no reason why he should be.

“I will if you want,” he said. “Am I driving you wild with desire?”

 “No,” she said, “You’re not my type.”

I think I should do it in the drawing room. Will you go and get the – thing - for me?

 

Still naked, he sat cross legged in front of the tapestry. An invisible connection hummed silently between it and the object on the floor in front of him; he could feel it, like an umbilical cord. He picked up the relic and unwrapped it, finding an ancient glass bottle enclosed in a lead casing.  Holding it up against the window to look, it was so dark it was almost black, yet red lights shifted within it. There; the blood memory, deep inside was speaking to him. He held it before him in both hands, and spoke.

“Viha.” _Fly apart._

He heard a sharp gasp behind him _._

“Julia, keep back!”

He heard her move away towards the door.

Layer by layer, spell by spell, like the rings of an onion, the enchantments began to open until at the last it lay black and fluid in his cupped hands. Then it crept under his skin and wriggled in his veins like worms, like maggots, like snakes; and it came home to his blood.

_The blood will remember the son behind the son._

For some moments he felt dreadfully ill. Beads of sweat sprang out all over his body and he fought to catch his breath. His head felt as if it might explode and everything seemed to be misted in a green fog. Then the green fog turned to a golden one and the sensation passed. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes in relief.

When he opened them again and turned round, Julia was looking at him. Between them was a silence that said, as clear as anything; _What now?_

She stood up. “Get some rest,” she said, her voice expressionless. “Come down to the kitchen when you feel better. Dressed please,” and left the room.

 

Sirius looked back at the tapestry and all those names stacked up one on the other with him at the bottom, knowing that this woman, whose life was about as far away from his own as it could possibly be, understood him better than anyone else except James ever had. He got to his feet and followed her out.

 

He was exhausted, he could not deny it, He collapsed back into the bed which still held some residual warmth and the scent of Julia, and slept.

 

Later on in the day, feeling much better and ravenously hungry, he got up and pulled on a pair of jeans. He did not bother putting a top on. He was likely to need all the help he could get.

As he walked down to the basement, he could hear her in the kitchen and was unusually hesitant as he opened the door. He fully expected to be in for an uncomfortable ride.

Julia looked at him, but did not speak as he entered. He supposed she had no more idea of what to say to him, than he had to her. The range was lit and she gestured towards the old armchair in front of it. Without taking his eyes off her, he sat down and she handed him a mug of tea. She presented him with a plate of cheese on toast and he put his feet up on the stove and ate.

At last she spoke to him. “You’ll burn your feet.”

“D’you think I’m so stupid I won’t move before that happens?”

He reconsidered his reply. “On second thoughts, don’t answer that. You don’t need to look after me Julia, you know. I’m okay now.”

She gave him an ominous smile and he wished he had kept his stupid mouth shut.

“So you’re feeling better then?” she said. “Good. In that case I think we’ve got some talking to do.”

He wasn’t ready. He needed more time. “Oh,” he groaned, “I feel really rough again, I need to rest.” He began to stand.

“Bloody well _sit down!”_ she ordered. “You aren’t going to wriggle out of this!”

Abruptly, he sat down and looked at her from the corner of his eye.

“You seem to have turned into my mother.”

Julia’s mouth tightened. “I’m beginning to think your mother was much put-upon! You’re an unregistered animagus. _Aren’t you?_ That’s how you survived Azkaban. _Isn’t it?_ And how you escaped! Albus almost told me. I can’t believe I didn’t see it! Couldn’t you trust me enough to tell me? ”

Her cheeks began to colour and her eyes were bright and angry. “How could you, Sirius? How could you let this bloody charade go on? All the things I said to Padfoot . . . was it just a great joke to you?”

 _A joke? She didn’t think that, did she?_ “No, Julia! It just – I couldn’t…” he ran out of words.

Then he saw realisation sweep over her face. Her voice was flat. “Oh Sirius – you. . . bloody hell. I thought it was a dream. . .” she looked pale. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Are you?”

 

Mortified, he had to look away, like the coward that he was. Yes he was ashamed.

“Yes! Yes! I don’t know what to say. I don’t have the words for this.”                   

Such a feeble response fired her back into life. “How many bloody words do you _need?”_ she yelled. “You only need one! Try _sorry_? But just say it lots of times!”

 

In his opinion, she looked wonderful just then; but it might have been a mistake to tell her so at that moment.

 

Narrowing her eyes, she drew a deep breath and spoke through clenched teeth. “Don’t think for one second you’re going to worm your way out of this so easily. You have got some serious explaining to do!”

He grinned. He couldn’t help it, she looked so pretty.

“Don’t. Do. That _.”_ she hissed.

 _What had he done?_ “What?”

“Don’t _smile_ at me. It’s not playing fair.”

Ah, perhaps he hadn’t lost his touch completely. “What else don’t you want me to do?” He trailed a fingertip from her throat to the tip of a breast. Her nipple stiffened and his cock jumped immediately to attention. He met her gaze optimistically.

“Don’t make me fall in love with you Sirius, if you can’t love me back.”

Ah. The ‘L’ word. That was something he had not anticipated. Not yet. He put his hand down and tried to think of something to say.

His silence told her what she needed to know. She was obviously trying not to cry and he felt paralysed and helpless.

“I see,” she said. “This conversation isn’t going any further is it? We’ve done what we had to do. There is no point in me staying any longer.” She sounded beaten. “I’ll go and get my things together.”

 

So she was going. That was what he wanted. Wasn’t it?

If he let her leave now, he would never see her again. He could go back to the life he had before she arrived. He had never wanted her there in the first place, interfering with his life, insinuating herself under his skin. She had turned his life upside down, changed the way he saw himself, the way he saw his lineage, the way he saw – the future?

 ...

 _Are you going to just let her leave?_ Padfoot was baffled. Why would he let her go like that? She knew where the itchy spot was. She made cakes. She smelled wonderful. He did not want her to go. _What was Sirius thinking?_

Padfoot made a unilateral decision, and went to find her.

.


	11. Communication

 

 **He scratched** at the door frame and waited outside her room.

When she opened the door, he gazed mournfully up at her with his very best, guaranteed-to-soften-the-hardest- heart limpid eyes, but she was unmoved. “What are you playing at now?” she said. “This is ridiculous.”

Detecting a certain amount of resistance, he whined and pushed his nose into her hand.

Kneeling in front of him, she took his head in her hands. Her eyes and voice were sad. “Who are you now? Padfoot or Sirius?”  She did not flinch or let go of him as he changed, which gave him a new experience in vulnerability. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.

“You can’t go Julia.”                                                                                       

“Oh?” her tone was laced with irony. “Why ever not?”

“Because – oh, because I don’t want you to.”

“People don’t always get what they want, Sirius, and they don’t always do what’s good for them.” She pulled away from him and stood up. “I didn’t mean to fall for a bad tempered wizard with a guilt complex and poor personal hygiene. But I did it anyway.”

He was still on his knees before her. “Will it help if I grovel, do you think?” 

She appeared unconvinced. “I’m not sure it will work. But I think you should give it a try anyway.”

He got up and sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hands in his. He looked at them for a moment; her small smooth ones in his big bony ones. Then he kissed her palms.

She did not pull away, but nor did she fall, swooning, into his embrace. “I’ve been wondering, Sirius, why you didn’t come clean; why you let things carry on like that? I’ve come to the conclusion that it was for one of two reasons. Either it was a great joke to you-”

 _No!_ He had to tell her he had not been making a game of her but she pressed a finger to his mouth before he could speak. He took it tenderly between his teeth and felt her shiver.

“But I don’t think so,” she said. “Sirius Black wouldn’t enjoy a joke he couldn’t share. After all what would be the point of making me ridiculous if you couldn’t share it with your friends? And somehow I don’t think a decent bloke like Remus would have approved. So that leaves the other reason. Might it be, Sirius, that in spite of yourself; in spite of every effort you have made to be Mad, Bad Sirius - maybe you do care a bit after all?”

He rested his head against her belly, the way Padfoot did.

Although she was small, she was strong; she had a core of steel and was tougher than him. Sometimes, he felt as if he was held together by threads as tenuous and unreliable as hope and anger. Now he had to do what he had never really done before. He had to talk to her.

Drawing a deep breath, he said, “When I’m a dog, it’s easy. Everything is black and white; there’s no subtlety. Padfoot knows he loves Julia, but Sirius is suffocated by the misery of the past and fear of what the future might hold. I hurt you, and I’m sorry for it. More sorry than I can say.”

Julia put two fingers on his forehead and pushed his head back to look at him, stroking a lock of hair away from his face with her thumb. His mother had sometimes brushed his hair back like that; always with disapproval, sometimes with disgust. And girls, lots of girls - and a few boys too - had done it with longing and with lust. But Julia; she did it so that she could see him better.

Those girls in the past, they had liked his pretty face – loved his stormy eyes, they said – enjoyed the things he did to them with his hands and his mouth. But this woman, she was different. And he was afraid, so afraid, that, like everything else in his life, he had buggered it up before it had even begun.

“How’s it going so far?” he asked, anxiously.                                                                      

She pursed her lips. “So-so. You need to try a lot harder. You knew how I felt, didn’t you?”

“I am sorry,” he said, finding that the word became easier the more he used it. “I thought in my stupid mind if I was hurting myself as well, it was somehow all right, but it wasn’t was it?”

“No it wasn’t.” She took his face in her hands so that he could not turn away. “You have to stop punishing yourself, Sirius, because you are punishing the people who love you as well.”

“When James died,” he said, “it left a gaping hole inside me. For twelve years I filled it with anger and hate and madness. Then Harry came along, and I thought maybe he would fill the gap. But he’s not James, Julia. No-one is. So the gap inside me was still there and I had grown used to it, it was so familiar; it had become part of me.

“Then Dumbledore sent you here; and you fell down my stairs and silenced my mother and gave me worming tablets and baked me cakes and called me an idiot . . . suddenly the hole started to fill up and it terrified me. I didn’t want it to be filled. I wanted to keep the anger alive inside me, do you see? But it did fill up and now - Julia, don’t leave me empty again.”

 “Such a responsibility,” she murmured.

It was too much to ask of her. He should have known it was too much. He should have kept his stupid mouth shut.

Lightly, she traced the lines he knew ran down his cheeks to the corner of his mouth.  “There, you see, you did have the words after all.”

“Did it work?”                                                                       

“It worked.”

He could not deceive her. “I’m broken Julia. I don’t know if I can be mended.”

“I know,” she said softly, “I know.”

He lay back on the bed, pulling her down with him and she put her head on his chest.  He could almost hear her thinking, and he hoped her thoughts were running along the same lines as his own.

She lifted her head and smiled down at him. Then she licked her lips. _Thank you Merlin._ He held his breath in anticipation, then she kissed him. He kept his arms around her slight frame as gentle as he could, his fingers spread wide and flat on her back. Her tongue teased his lips apart. He opened his mouth for her, and explored hers with his own tongue. An involuntary growl escaped when she started to nibble at his lip and then his neck, his collar bone, his nipple. He could not keep still. His hips were moving in eagerness and her hands were sliding down his stomach to the button of his jeans. He went to unfasten them for her, but she pushed his hand away and teased him. He was desperate to be touched; his cock was aching to be touched.

“Oh, Julia, please. . .” he felt the loosening of his waistband as she unfastened the button and began to explore inside, trailing kisses and whispers down, and further down until, Merlin be praised, she took him in her mouth.

It was not just Padfoot’s sensitive parts she could find. She was doing such things to him, he would last no time at all if she did not stop. Wanting to be inside her, he gasped, “No, Julia, not this time.” He pulled her up to him, then flipped her over, so that she lay underneath him. “My turn now.” 

Tenderly, he nipped her neck with his sharp teeth. Slightly shocked, he noticed how easily he raised red marks on her, but she moaned and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. He was trying so hard to hold back, he was shaking. Caressing her breast he felt the hard skin of his palm scrape her delicate skin. He groaned and pulled away. “Julia, I’m too rough.”

“Ah,” she hissed. “Shit, Sirius, I _like_ it rough!” She grabbed his hair, dragging him down to her, and then, Merlin help him, she _bit_ him. Then it was teeth and tongues and nails and grunts of effort and gentleness be damned.

“Ah Julia. Fuck. Now!” He hooked his arm under her knee and pulled her leg over his shoulder. She stroked his cock for a second, then guided him, and in one slick, wet move he was inside her at last. Holding himself still, he looked at her; her pupils distended and her cheeks and breasts flushed pink and pretty with desire. “Julia,” he whispered, “this is us now. It’s you and me,” and then he began to move inside her

Her hips twisted and ground against him as she urged him deeper until he felt her muscles around him began to ripple and contract and she cried out his name. The sound of it took him to the edge of his orgasm and at last he was spilling into her in helpless gasping spasms until at last he lay still and calm, with her arms around him. He wished, oh how he wished he could stay there forever.

“Don’t leave me, Julia,” he murmured, twisting his fingers in her hair.

They slept squashed together that night in Julia’s narrow bed. The repair to the mattress had started to give way again and feathers were collecting in little silent drifts on the floor.

Deep in the night, he woke, sweating and frightened, thinking he had cried out. Julia was stroking his back and whispering to him. He should have warned her about the dreams. Perhaps she would want him to go and sleep elsewhere; but when he suggested it, she laughed and kissed him and called him an idiot. So he rested his head against the softness of her breasts and she stroked his head until he slept again.

In the morning he lay in the bed and enjoyed watching her getting dressed, cursing as she picked feathers from her clothes. She glanced at him. “You look very pleased with yourself. Smug, in fact.”

“I’m feeling pretty smug,” he admitted. “Go and put the kettle on, woman.” She pulled a pillow from under his head and dropped it on top of his face. Laughing, he rolled out of bed and, naked, went in search of some fresh clothes.

 

After breakfast, he sat down in the old armchair by the stove. Beckoning her over, he pulled her on to his lap, tucking her head under his chin.

“Now you’ve had your wicked way with me madam, I think it’s time you told me whatever it is you’ve been keeping to yourself.”

She nodded against his chest. “Yes, it is.”

She got up and went over to one of the vast kitchen dressers where she opened a drawer, rummaging at the back of it. Finding what she was looking for, she brought it back and arranged herself in his lap again, pressing herself against him for comfort. Pulling her closer, he waited.

She showed him the photograph she was holding, pointing to one of the familiar faces that smiled out from it. For a moment he looked at it, uncomprehending.

" _Benjy?_ "

"My brother," she whispered.

He rested his chin on the top of her head. "Ah, Julia, I’m so sorry. I never even asked your name.”

“I’m not sure we have time to worry about names.”

A chill crept up his backbone and settled at the base of his skull.

Her voice was muffled. “It’s happening again isn’t it? There’s going to be another war.”

“I think so, yes,” He tightened his arms around her small frame, as if by doing that he could keep her safe. And maybe himself, too.

 

.

Later that day, he made it his business to renovate another bedroom for the two of them; one with a more generously proportioned bed. Then he unhooked the blanket Julia had, quite understandably, draped over the blank canvas that hung on the wall in her room, relieved to see no sign of Phineas Nigellus who always asked questions he had no answers for.

What was the future for them when this was over? Would she still want him? Would he still want her? He thought so. Would she come and live in his world, or would he live in hers? He pushed the thoughts away. The present was all they had. He would not waste it in speculation and dreams.

Unexpectedly, he found it had become something of an ambition for him to make love to Julia in as many different places in his house as possible, although she proved disappointingly unadventurous when he tried to seduce her on the stairs in front of his mother’s portrait, and was equally resolute about Buckbeak’s room, citing the unsanitary conditions and powerful odour of hippogriff as her reasons.

Still, in spite of Julia’s comforting presence, and the warmth she brought into his life, sometimes unwelcome memories came to the forefront of his mind, and sometimes he needed to be alone or was simply unwilling to inflict his misery on her. And sometimes, too, the walls of the house closed in on him and he found it hard even to remember that outside there was a world of wind and sun, of clouds and rain and earth.

 

Surely she could take him out and run with him in the park, and let him chase pigeons into the sky, just once? He scratched at the front door and begged her to take him out.

 

 “Padfoot, sweetie,” she said, “I can’t! I can’t take you outside, it’s too dangerous. I know, I really do, how much you want to go out, but I just can’t!”

She left him by the door for a few minutes, but returned with something in her hand. “Come into the kitchen with me Sweetie,” she beckoned. She made him lie down on the shabby hearthrug in front of the stove, and groomed him with an old comb for hours until his coat felt like silk and crackled with sparks, and every inch of his skin tingled.

.

* * *

 

Julia was at the range using a fork to stir several sizzling rashers of bacon around a frying pan. Sirius’s mouth was watering at the appetising smell and he leaned over her shoulder to dip a piece of bread into the juice.  Becoming distracted by an appealing freckle behind her ear, he decided to nibble the back of her neck for a moment instead. Usually she liked that rather a lot, but this time she suddenly gave a deep groan, clapped her hand over her mouth and dashed out of the room. Alarmed, he had the presence of mind to push the frying pan away from the flame before hurrying after her.

Standing outside the bathroom door, he gave a tentative knock. “Julia?”

From inside, he heard her groan, “It’s not locked.”

She had been sick and was kneeling, resting her head on the porcelain of the toilet.

He knelt beside her. “Are you ill?

With an expression of complete misery, she looked at him and shook her head. Then she closed her eyes. “No, Sirius. I’m not ill. I’m pregnant.”

He stood up in shock, but his legs felt unsteady, and he sat abruptly on the side of the bath. “Merlin’s beard! Are you sure?”

There was a sharp edge to her voice. “No, I’m not sure. What do you think? We haven’t exactly been careful have we? I’m sorry. At least, I am, but I’m not. I’m thirty two, Sirius. I didn’t think this would ever happen for me.”

He buried his head in his hands. The world suddenly felt unstable. “Fuck. Double fuck. I can’t – I thought you Muggle women were all on the pill!”

The words had spewed, acrid, from his mouth before he had time to pull them back. Even wizards cannot recall words once spoken or undo cruelty once done. The anguish on her face hit him like a sledgehammer.

Stumbling to her feet, she ran from the room in distress, slamming the door behind her.

“Oh, Merlin, _Julia!”_

He jumped up and followed, calling her name. But she ignored him, and when he got into the entrance hall, the front door was closing behind her.

…


	12. Comprehension

**There was a moment of insanity** when he contemplated following her out on to the street, but a remnant of common sense prevailed. He sat at the bottom of the stairs, waiting, with a wary eye on the curtains covering his mother’s portrait, but after half an hour had stretched into an hour he realised the pointlessness of it and understood she would be gone for some time. He was sure she would not stay away though; it was not in her nature to leave things unfinished.  

He piled the cold rashers of bacon on to a slice of bread and took it upstairs, eating as he walked; thinking about babies and Julia. At thirty-two, she was older than he had supposed; and if she wanted babies she should have them. And if she was to have them, then they should be his babies.

Then his mind turned to fatherhood, and Harry, and James; and how, if she did not come back, one way or another he would have to find her. Until, eventually, he could not think any more and let Padfoot take over, patient and still in a second floor bedroom, resting his nose on his paws by Buckbeak’s side.

 

The daylight was fading in the cool evening when he heard the front door open, and listened as Julia climbed the stairs, going straight to her old room. He padded after her, finding the door ajar, and pushed his way in. She was sitting on a stool at the dressing table, brushing her hair. Confidently, he parked his chin on her knee and looked up at her.

She tickled his ears. “Sirius?”

He whined.

“Padfoot, then, I suppose? Black and white.” He licked her hand.

“We’ve got to sort this out you know. You can’t spend the rest of your life as a dog just to avoid talking to me.” He licked her again.

She undressed and he lay motionless and watched, as by degrees she was uncovered.

“So that’s not even working? You don’t want me any more?”

She was wrong about that. He looked at the curves and shadows of her body and thought of how he knew her smell and taste and what the inside of her felt like, and how to make her gasp and shiver; but now was not the time. He slapped his tail on the floor apologetically. She climbed into bed, and he jumped up beside her.

“I will do this alone, you know. If Sirius can’t handle it. I do understand, I think. But I wish. . . Oh hell.” Tears were running down her cheeks. He licked the salty water away. She wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his coat and cried into it until at last, exhausted, she slept.

 

Before daybreak he slipped away from her, giving the tearstains on her face a final lick.  As he left the room, he whispered to her, “It will be all right, sweetheart, it will.”

He went into the drawing room and looked out of the tall windows across the gardens and yards and back streets of the sleeping city, towards the lightening sky. If his house had a heart, it was in here, in the tapestry. The magic that circulated through its walls and floors and breathed in its spaces began and ended in here. It made him strong.

Thoughtfully, he opened one of the ornate, dusty, glass-fronted cabinets that flanked the marble fireplace. He picked out one of the ornaments, dusted it against his sleeve and weighed it in his hands. _Yes,_ he thought, _that will do_. He replaced it on the clean patch circled by dust, and pushed the door shut.

Leaning against the cool marble with his hands on the mantelpiece, he stared down into the fireplace.

_Prongs? I could do with a word, mate._

The sooty darkness in the hearth shifted and he saw James - and Lily with him this time. Both of them smiled at him. _Good on yer, son,_ said James with a wink. Then they were gone.

Looking up into the cracked and dirty overmantel mirror, Sirius studied his reflection dispassionately. ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life.’ He remembered this from the time he had spent in smoky Muggle flats in his youth. It had been a popular poster on the walls. The truth of it struck him sharply.

He wanted to make something for Julia, something to show her that he cared. _A red rose;_ it was symbolic. _Would she understand?_ It was too soon for him to say the words to her, but a red rose? Everyone understood that, didn’t they? Sitting on the floor and washed by the pink light of dawn, he took his wand from where he kept it tucked into his belt loops, and set to work.

 

The nearest bathroom was occupied by a vast tub perched on feet shaped like serpents, with enamel that was chipped in places, and stained with decades of dripping taps. He prepared a deep bath and found some thick towels in a blanket chest. They smelled slightly of camphor, but at least they were clean and dry. In the dining room, he located a tea tray inlaid with mother of pearl, and a finely painted antique porcelain teapot and cup and saucer. He took them into the kitchen, washed the dust from them, and made a pot of tea. He put the rose he had made beside them on the tray, and carried it back upstairs to the bedroom.

Outside Julia’s door, he paused and knocked, taking an answering grumble as an invitation to enter.

Her face was pale and blotchy.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I am a complete and utter stupid arsehole. You deserve better.” He put the tray down on a bedside table and tucked a pillow against the iron bedstead.

“Yes,” she said, pulling herself up to sit against it. “Damn your eyes. You are. And a cruel one too.”

Silently, he sat on the edge of the bed and handed her the rose, wanting her to understand. She took it in her hand; put it to her lips. A single tear ran down her cheek and he wiped it off with his finger.

“This is a real rose,” she said. “Did you make this? It’s strong magic.”

All of a sudden, she swallowed and her face took on a grey pallor. “Sorry, she said, I’ve got to”- she tumbled out of bed and dashed for the bathroom.

Helplessly, she retched into the toilet and Sirius stroked her back and shoulders, drawing some of the nausea away. He rinsed a cloth in the warm rose-scented water of the bath and wiped her face. Then he kissed her.

“Oh don’t, Sirius, I’m disgusting.”

Twelve years in Azkaban had inured him to every imaginable sort of bodily excretion. He could not imagine ever finding Julia disgusting. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “Can you stand up?”

“Hm? I suppose so.” She got to her feet and stood before him.

He put his hands on her hips and pressed his head to her belly, closing his eyes. Julia’s hands were in his hair, her fingers pressing into his scalp. He thought _into_ her and _into_ the future and saw her swollen, big and hard; the muscles of her stomach rippling in contractions. He heard the sound of panting and pain and effort. Then he saw the tiny thing, creased, wet with mucus and streaked with blood; heard the first indrawn breath, the first feeble cry, and looked to see – a girl.

Inside the vision, he said, “Your daddy loves you, you know, little one.” The deep blue eyes of the new-born opened, looked at him for a moment and then the vision was gone.

“My daughter,” he said with relief. “I shouldn’t have a son. The line should end with me.” He felt a tremble in his mind, in his blood, in his house.

Julia looked sceptical, but did not argue. With a grunt of effort, he picked her up and carried her over to the huge bath.

She looked at it in amazement. “Rose petals!” she was laughing and crying at the same time. “You sod,” she said. “Have you any idea how long it takes to run a bath in here without magic? Half an hour Sirius! For six inches of tepid water with bits in it.”

“I can’t hold you any longer,” he said. “You’re putting my back out.” She squealed as he dumped her inelegantly into the bath and water slopped over the sides.

“Ah! Sirius!” She relaxed into the water.  “Oh, this is lovely.” She looked up at him. “Aren’t you going to join me then?”

“Most certainly I am.” He flicked open the buttons and shrugged his shirt off without looking away from her face.

She licked her lips hungrily, and he was already hard as he kicked his jeans across the floor. “Like what you see?”

“You know I do. Turn around.” He turned his back to her and stood still, feeling her gaze, like warm fingers running up and down his back. “You’re beautiful, but I need to take a closer look. Come here.”

He slipped into the bath in front of her, so that they were facing each other. He wiped rose petals off her shoulders and breasts, pleased to see her nipples stiffen at his touch. “They’re not very practical are they, rose petals? Better in theory I think.”

“I love them,” she said. “I might think about forgiving you.”

She traced the dark tattoos on his chest. “They all have meanings, don’t they?” Her fingers paused on the one below his left pectoral. “What about this one? It’s not quite the same as the others. It’s raised, more like a scar?”

_That one._

His immediate instinct was to gloss over it; make light of it; claim forgetfulness, but she was entitled to honesty. She had unknowingly laid her own heart open before him; he owed her the same.

His voice was harsher than he meant it to be. “It’s an ownership brand.” Turning his face to the wall, he swallowed, afraid of what he might see on her face.

“An ownership. . . Oh, my love!”

He took a deep breath and sank beneath the bath water into the muffled rush and gurgle. Light, like cobwebs in a breeze, his hair floated around his head, and he held her hand like a lifeline. When his lungs were bursting he lifted his head above the water and gulped at the steamy air.

She held his palm against her cheek. “If you ever want to talk about it, you know, you can. And if you don’t, well that’s okay too. I’ll never ask, I promise.”

Then, to his surprise, he did find himself telling her; dry eyed, dry mouthed, harsh voiced; about how a pretty young man in a place like Azkaban was in no position to refuse protection, though the price was high. And how you can get used to anything in the end. And how there were times when any sort of tenderness kept him from the dark abyss of madness.

Although she cried for him, when she kissed the mark and said, “No more, Sirius. It means nothing any more. It’s just a mark on your skin now,” it surprised him to discover she was speaking the truth.

As water splashed to the floor and ran between the floorboards, and wet rose petals stuck to every surface and found their way into every gap, she straddled him, lowering herself on to him, sliding over and wriggling her hips until everything other than the sensations he was feeling retreated into irrelevance. Slipping his hand between, to where the two of them were moving together, he found the place that made Julia whimper and shiver, and the noises she made intensified his own excitement. Her hands were clasping his face, and he watched her watching him, until his eyes closed of their own volition and with a moan, he gave himself up to her.

 

When he had dried her with the towels that smelled of camphor but were thick and soft, and they were both dressed, he said, “Julia I need to do something. I want to give you something.”

She looked uncertain. “You don’t need to give me anything.”

“Yes I do,” he said, “come to the drawing room with me.”

 

He went directly to the cabinet beside the fireplace and took out the ornament he had chosen earlier, holding it out to her, hoping she would take it from him before objecting or arguing. “I want you to have this.”

To his relief, she took hold of it automatically, before looking at it.

“Put it safe, Julia, and I hope you can just forget about it and never need it.”

As she studied the heavy, black enamelled gold-chased egg, her eyes widened. “I don’t think I can take this. If it’s what I think it is, it’s too much.”

“Too late,” he said. “I’ve already given it to you. I know you understand the rules governing ownership of the things in this house are – complicated. Not straightforward. Just put it away and forget about it. Put it somewhere Kreacher won’t find it though, please.”

For several seconds, she held it in her hands looking from it to him and back again, until finally, she nodded and left the room. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back looking out of the deep arched windows again, feeling a sense of well-being and satisfaction.

After a few minutes, she came back carrying something in her hand. She held it up to show him. “Look, I just found my camera. I’d forgotten I had it. Can I take your picture? It probably won’t come out properly anyway.”

Grinning at her, he raised his eyebrows and struck a pose. “Sure, go ahead.”

 

Just as she lowered the camera, they heard a dreadful shriek from somewhere on the floor above. Their eyes met in shock.

“Buckbeak!”

He didn’t wait for Julia, but took the stairs three at a time ahead of her

Buckbeak was writhing and screaming in agony. A faint haze of smoke hung in the air, and there was a dreadful stench of burnt hair and skin. Sirius and Julia could not get near him for the mindlessly violent thrashing claws and beak.

Sirius pulled Julia behind him. “Keep back.” He pulled out his wand and sedated the animal, who slowly collapsed to the floor, dazed. Kneeling down by Buckbeak’s side, he examined the awful wound on his flank. “How the hell did this happen?”

Julia had Buckbeak’s head on her lap. She shook her head, puzzled. “I think it was Kreacher. I passed him on the landing. He was laughing. Didn’t you see him?”

He looked at her in disbelief. His house-elf had done this? The bloody thing had finally flipped! He knew Dumbledore thought it was more secure for him to keep the elf but this was the final straw. This time it was clothes!

“I’ll fucking kill it!”

“Not now, you won’t. Buckbeak needs your help.”

He concentrated on cleaning and initiating the healing process on the deep and extensive wound, working bit by bit from the outside in. Engrossed, he hardly noticed the passage of time, but Julia shifted and stretched in discomfort with Buckbeak’s head heavy on her knees.

Making a final pass of his wand, he said, “I think I’ve done as much as I can. He’ll be okay now. There’ll be a hell of a scar though.”

Julia was stroking Buckbeak’s neck. “I love you,” she said.

Surprised, he paused. “Julia, I,”–

“Ssh, It’s okay.”

They heard the sound of the front door. She looked up. “Are you expecting someone?”

He shook his head. “It must be urgent.” There was a crash and someone swore.

They looked at each other. “Tonks!” The portrait of Sirius’s mother started to howl.

They hurried downstairs, and Julia carelessly flicked the curtains closed on the portrait.

Tonks looked tense. “We’ve got an emergency. Julia,”-

“I know,” said Julia. “Order business. I’ll get out of the way. Shout if you need me.” As she made her way upstairs, Sirius watched her back and unexpectedly felt an overwhelming sense of dread.

 

* * *

 


	13. Conclusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be very grateful if you could take the time to let me know what you think, good or bad!

* * *

 

 **Sirius looked back at Tonks** who jerked her head towards the kitchen. “In there.”

He followed her in, and within a matter of minutes, Remus, Alastor and Kingsley had joined them.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Harry.”

“Harry! What?” An icy band tightened in his chest. He looked at Kingsley. “What’s happened to Harry?

“Nothing yet, as far as we know. We’re waiting for Severus, he has more information.”

“Snape? What the fuck has he got to do with it?”

“Sirius, please,” sighed Kingsley.

Sirius scowled but kept his mouth shut.

They heard the front door and all turned to watch as Severus Snape entered the kitchen, wearing his characteristically severe black robes like armour. Sirius fought to contain the revulsion he felt for the man.

“Severus, what can you tell us?” asked Kingsley.

Snape looked even paler than usual. There were dark shadows under his eyes and his face was drawn. “Harry has gone to the Ministry. He seems to be under the impression that the Dark Lord has Black imprisoned there.”

Sirius stared at him. “Me? What the-? Why would he think that?”

Severus gave him a glittering, impenetrable look.

“Well, what are we hanging about for? We’d better go hadn’t we?”

Severus spoke again. “Not you, Black. You are required to remain here until Dumbledore arrives.”

Furious, Sirius’s voice rose. “What? You are joking!” He looked around at the others who seemed unwilling to offer him any support.

“I never joke, Black.”

“You keep the fuck out of it, Snivellus or I’ll knock your fucking head off!” he yelled.

“That is just what I would expect from a savage like you, Black,” sneered Severus. “It is such a shame your intellect is no match for your. . .  baser instincts.”

“What the fuck? You bastard!” Sirius snatched his wand from behind him but before he could even lift it, Alastor Moody had summoned it into his own hand.

Severus sniggered, and Sirius drew his arm back to punch him. Remus grabbed his arm, “No, Sirius!”

.

“Sirius?”

The voice was coming from the doorway. The voice of his fragile sanity. Remus looked relieved.

Snape turned to look at Julia, with a contemptuous expression. His eyes narrowed.

A look of disgust crossed her face. “Get out of my head!” she cried sharply, and Snape staggered and nearly fell over in shock.

Julia crossed the room to stand by Sirius and he put his arm about her shoulder, pulling her possessively to his side. He laughed bitterly. “Oh yeah, Snivellus, don’t underestimate the Muggle! Of course I’m coming with you! How can you think I would just stay here like a miserable coward while you’re fighting!”

“Sirius?” She touched his arm.

“Julia,” said Remus, “please talk some sense into Sirius, Harry is in trouble at the Ministry. We have to go but Sirius needs to stay here. We think it’s a trap, and we need someone here to tell Dumbledore what is happening.”

Julia gripped his arm and he looked down at her. Wait, she said, silently. Wait. We will deal with this. Together.

.

.

Unable to keep still, Sirius circled the kitchen table, kicking random pieces of furniture in frustration. “I can’t believe this. They just left me here!” He turned to face her, his clenched fists resting on the table. “I can’t stand it, Julia. I can’t stay here! You do understand don’t you?”

Her gaze was steady but shadowed with worry. “If you were the sort of man who could stay behind while the people he loves were in danger, you wouldn’t be the man I fell in love with.”

He pulled her into his arms, so that he did not have to look at her face when he asked.

“Will you help me Julia?  If I apparate from here, the Dementors will be on me before I get into the Ministry. Can you get me in as Padfoot?”

She was silent for several seconds. Sirius pulled back to look at her.

Her voice was flat. “Yes, I think so.”

“I’m going to make – oh”- he picked up the first thing that came to hand, which was a spoon, “this- into a portkey that will take us to the visitors’ entrance at the Ministry.”

She looked sick. “A portkey! Oh bloody hell, Sirius!”

“Trust me, Julia. It’s the only way we can get there fast enough.”

She put her hand on the back of his, to still him. “If I asked you not to go, what would you do?”

What would he do? Did he even know?

“If you asked me not to go,” he said, “then I wouldn’t. Are you asking?”

He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

“No, Sirius, I won’t ask that of you. I’ll do it. But I’m frightened. You will be careful won’t you? Promise me?”

 _Good old Julia,_ he thought. She would never let him down.

“I’ll take Malfais’ book back,” she said. “It will give me a valid excuse. I’ll go and get it.”

While she was gone, Sirius prepared the portkey and left it on the table. In a few minutes, Julia was back with her battered old rucksack.

“What about Albus?” she pointed out. “He’ll be expecting to find you here. Shall we leave a note?”

Sirius shook his head. “No time. _Kreacher!”_ The house elf appeared before them but kept well out of reach. Intense dislike swept over Sirius. He would like to take both the elf and Severus Snape, he thought, and drop them together from the top of a high cliff.

“Kreacher, when Dumbledore gets here, tell him I’ve joined the Order at the Ministry, understand?”

The way Kreacher burst into shrill peals of mad laughter was very unpleasant, but he did not see how the elf could do anything other than obey his instructions, so he ignored it and dismissed him.

.

Miserably, Julia looked at the spoon.

“It’s ready,” said Sirius. “You’ll have to let this happen, Julia.”

“I know.”  She rubbed the back of her neck.

He slid his wand into her bag and she shrugged it on to her shoulder.

“Take some deep breaths, keep calm, relax. And trust me.” He gave her a quick kiss.

 

Holding tightly to his neck, with her fingers twisted in his shaggy coat, she put her hand towards the spoon.

 

He licked her hand where it was holding her hair back from her face as she knelt on the pavement and vomited into the gutter. Most of the few passers-by gave her a wide berth, looking revolted. If any looked as if they might come to help, he snarled at them, looking as dangerous as he could.

When she had collected herself, she pulled open the door of the smelly phone box. He squashed up against her legs and Julia picked up the receiver and dialled.

There was a high pitched crackle and she spoke into the receiver.

“Julia Fenwick,” she said “and my pet dog, Snuffles.”

If he had to be somebody’s pet, he supposed, he would rather it was Julia than anyone else. There were interesting possibilities.

“I’m returning a document on loan from the archives.”

There was a rattle and she pulled two name badges from slot at the bottom of the telephone. She fastened one to his improvised collar.

 

He sat, obedient and docile by Julia’s side, attempting to look harmless while she spoke to a rather bad-tempered receptionist, placing Malfais’ book on the desk in front of her

The woman at the desk gave a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t know why you couldn’t have done this at a more civilised time. We would prefer you to conclude your business as quickly as you can. We don’t encourage your sort here.”

Padfoot could not help a little growl escaping, and the purse-lipped woman looked alarmed and shoved the book back towards Julia.

The Ministry was in something approaching chaos. People were running in all directions, but no-one seemed to have any sense of purpose. There was a pervading atmosphere of anxiety and disorganisation and no-one took the slightest notice of the two of them.

“Come on!” she started to run, and he trotted by her side. At the end of a deserted and poorly lit corridor in the Department of Muggle Studies, she opened the door into a tiny room. It was so small, that with two of them in there, it was positively crowded.

 He gave himself a shake from head to toe and transformed back into Sirius. He looked about her dingy office with disapproval. Surely they could have given her a better place than this? He wondered how long she had worked there.

“I like your window,” he said. It showed an attractive seascape and the choppy waves sparkled in bright moonlight.

“Arthur made it for me,” she said. “I think he felt a bit guilty about the room.”

He took her hand, kissed her palm and retrieved his wand from her bag. He picked up a little brass sign from her desk and read it. ‘ _You don’t have to be mad to work here, but it helps’_.

“True enough,” he grinned and tossed it into the air, flicking his wand at it. It sprang wings and flew around the room. Julia put her hand out to it in delight and a tiny phoenix fluttered to a stop on her finger, set to a perfect little model. She looked closely at it, tears shining bright in her eyes. His own eyes felt hot and uncomfortable.

 “Ah Julia, our timing was rotten wasn’t it? I do love you. Never forget.” He knew it was an odd thing to say, and was not quite sure why he had said it all, except – _no,_ he would not think about that.

If only they had had more time. With foreboding, he remembered Dumbledore’s words, and the Faberge egg he had given her. He remembered what he had seen when he pressed his face to Julia’s belly, and he knew that everything _would_ be all right; but maybe not for him. And then he thought that perhaps in any case, love alone would never have repaired the damage inside him, and perhaps, too, he was ready for what was to come.

“I love you,” he said again. He rested his forehead on hers and allowed the stinging tears to fall. He felt her thumb wiping at his cheek.

“Sirius?”

“I’ve got to find the others,” he said.

“Sweetheart, be safe, come back to me. I need you. Please.” 

 He kissed her, in every way he could, in that little time, in that little room; then turned and left, closing the door behind him. As he ran for the lift he could still taste her, but as he travelled deeper into the Ministry; as he moved away from her, so his mind did too, until he could no longer feel her thoughts and her worry, and he focused then on what was ahead.

 

 

Slamming out of the lift, he ran for the Department of Mysteries. All his doubts were gone. When this was done, they were going to make plans, Julia and he. They were going to be a family. Adrenaline and magic pumped through his veins. He was strong again. He was Sirius Black. He was unstoppable.

He paused, feeling the way. Tonks was close by. And he could feel. . . Bellatrix. If Bellatrix was there, this would be nasty. But both of them were off in the same direction, and he followed his instinct to a featureless black door at the end of a long corridor.

As he pushed open the door of the entrance to the Department of Mysteries, the idea that he would never come back through again took hold in his mind, but he pushed it aside.

Beyond the door was a circular chamber with identical unmarked doors all the way around. With relief he saw that the chamber was already occupied.

Tonks was the first to see him, her eyes widening. “Sirius! What are you doing here?” She took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. “You’re back!” She gave him a smacking kiss on the lips. “Remus, look! It’s Sirius, and he’s back!”

Three other pairs of eyes were watching him. Remus looked worried. “How did you get here, Sirius? You used Julia didn’t you? Was that fair?”

Sirius held Remus’s anxious gaze. “Yes, Julia helped me. No, it’s not fair. None of this is fair. But she knew what she was doing and she can take care of herself. And she loves me, and I. . . I love her.”

Remus grinned at him. “I told you so didn’t I?”

“Told me so, what?”

“Told you Julia could help you, if you’d let her!”

“You self-righteous git. You aren’t always right you know.”

Remus put a fist in the air and Sirius punched it gently with his own. “Good to have you back, mate.”

“Good to be back. Now, are we going to talk about the weather, or have we got a job to do?”

Mad-Eye clapped him on the shoulder, and Kingsley said, “Well, since you’re here, you may as well make yourself useful. Welcome back on the team, Sirius.” Sirius nodded in acknowledgement.

“There’s a load of Death Eaters down here,” said Mad-Eye. “Do we know who we’re dealing with? How many of them are there, Kingsley?”

“We think between ten and twelve,” said Kingsley, “but”-

Sirius interrupted. “Bellatrix is here, and Lucius. I don’t know how many others.”

“How the hell do you know that?” asked Remus

Sirius gave a twisted smile. “I always know when I’m near to my relatives.” Mad-Eye gave a sardonic grunt.

Kingsley was fiddling with his gold earring and wearing an expression of intense concentration.

Sirius was puzzled and looked at Alastor. “What’s he doing?”

Mad-Eye held his hand up in a gesture for him to wait. 

“The Hall of Prophecies,” said Kingsley.

“This is your turf Kingsley,” said Mad-Eye. “Lead the way!”

Without hesitation, Kingsley led them through one of the doors, though Sirius could not fathom how he knew which one to use.

The light in the room they had entered was so bright, Sirius had to blink while his eyes adjusted to the glare. The air vibrated with a million ticks a second interspersed now and then with chimes and shrill alarms. His ears, sensitised by the time he spent as a dog, rebelled. The noise rattled in his head and made him feel dizzy. Looking around, he saw the room was long, with rows of desks running along each side; so that apart from a few gaps there was just a narrow walkway between them. Everywhere were timepieces of every conceivable and many an inconceivable description. Wrist watches, pocket watches, stopwatches and clocks. Hour glasses, sundials, moon phase clocks  antikythera and time-turners. Cuckoo clocks, weather clocks, dripping water clocks and burning candle clocks. Standing on the floors, hanging from the ceiling, leaning on the walls, nested in cabinets, lying on the tables.

At the far end of the room, a huge, clear jar as tall as a man, glittered, bright as sun, throwing visible beams of light in every direction and casting long shadows behind the five of them. Inside the great jar something moved, drifting with an occasional wriggle from the bottom to the top. Once there, it fell down to the bottom and then began its ascent once more.

Turning back, Sirius saw, above the door through which they had entered, a gigantic clock on the wall, much like those he remembered from Kings Cross station in his childhood. He noticed that the number twelve was where the three should be, with the one above it, and the two above that; and that what he had taken to be a second hand was moving erratically and changing direction. He had a sense of slipping sideways.

Behind him, he heard Kingsley. “It is a common misconception that Time is universal. For you and I, it moves only in one direction, but in other _wheres_ and other _whens_ , who can say?”

Sirius turned to look at Kingsley’s dark, inscrutable face and when he turned back to the immense clock, the numbers had all switched places again.

A loud noise drew everyone’s attention off to one side. The body of a man with, horribly, the bawling head of a baby, lurched mindlessly, from side to side in the middle of the room, crashing into walls and furniture, grabbing blindly at anything that came to hand. He had ripped a sleeve from his robe and one shoulder was completely bare. As one, they paused to stare in horror.

“Who – what – in Merlin’s name is that?”

“That,” said Sirius, “is Rabastan Lestrange, I recognise the tattoos, but what the fuck happened to him?”

“Quickly!” Kingsley pulled them back to attention and they ran on down the middle of the long room skirting the baby-headed man, leaving him thrashing about behind. Beyond a door at the other end of the room, Sirius drew a deep breath of relief to be away from the infernal ticking and chiming. They found another man wearing a Death Eater’s mask sitting on the floor, leaning against a wall weeping, and nursing the mangled remains of what had been his hands.

Mad-Eye yanked the mask off. “Nott,” he said dismissively. “Another one down. Good.”

Sirius trod on something soft, and looking down, saw it was a finger. One of Nott’s, presumably. He had seen much worse in Azkaban, and kicked it away looking around at the room in which they stood. Lit only by candles held in irregularly placed brackets and burning with chill blue flames, the ceiling was so high that the upper part was lost in darkness. Row upon row of tall wooden racks stretched away as far as he could see, and each rack held a multitude of shelves on which were fastened small labels. On the shelves rested spheres of apparently infinite sizes and colours. Some glowed as if lit from within, while some held moving smoky clouds and yet others appeared dull and lifeless. It was the Hall of Prophecies. He had heard about it but never expected to see it.

With clear purpose, Kingsley headed towards a part of the room and they followed, finding him amid a mess of toppled and broken shelves in a field of shattered glass.  A few cloudy globes remained in place but most of the shelves were empty. In places, little puffs of smoke burst into the air and disembodied voices echoed, mostly unintelligible, around them.

Standing before a badly damaged rack, Kingsley pointed to a yellowed label still fastened to a splintered shelf. Sirius peered at it. _‘SPT to APWBD. Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter’_. The shelf above was empty.

“Unless it’s in this unholy mess,” Kingsley  gestured around, “Harry must have taken it. Let’s hope he’s still got it. But they’ve been and gone. Back to the entrance!”

Not watching where his feet were going, Sirius felt a sharp pop underfoot and a cloud erupted before him. Inside it was a disembodied mouth, and it was speaking. Hypnotised, he could not tear his eyes away. The hoarse male voice sounded almost familiar, like someone from his childhood. He cocked his head. It reminded him a bit of his uncle Alphard.

 _‘. . . For twelve years he will be dead. . .’_ it said, ‘. . . _and will walk the ancient lines. But if he answers to the one who calls, another gate will open; and if he follows the light he may return. . . ’_

Tonks grabbed his arm, breaking his trance. “Don’t hang about, mate, come on!”

They gathered in the entrance room once more. Kingsley seemed to be listening to his earring again. “They’re in the Death Chamber.” He pointed at Sirius, Remus and Moody. “You three, through that door – Tonks, with me, here. Wands ready. On my word. Now!”

Simultaneously, they threw the two doors open and burst through, wands in front of them, primed and ready for combat. They were standing at the top level of a chilly, dimly lit, tiered chamber, like a theatre in the round, that dropped steeply into a central well, in the middle of which, mounted on a dais was a high stone arch.

Although he had never seen it, he knew what it was. Knew his own ancestors had been instrumental in bringing it to this deep place and knew something of what was said to wait beyond. The carved stone archway, pitted and cracked, was ancient beyond memory. Tattered shreds of darkness hung there, drifting as if moved by a faint breeze; or by great heat.

Tonks had already engaged in combat with Lucius Malfoy, knocking him out with admirable efficiency, before turning her attention to her aunt Bellatrix who was some way lower, near the arch. Sirius spied a masked death eater aiming for her, and disarmed him with a yell of “ _Expelliarmus!_ He looked around the chamber, mechanically evaluating the events happening around him and searching, urgently, for Harry.

Kingsley was battling two Death Eaters at once, beams of light shooting from the tip of his wand and, remarkably, from the fingers of his other hand. Mad-Eye was behind a pillar, duelling with someone he could not see; and he had no idea where Remus had gone. Below, near the dais, a boy he did not recognise was crawling along the floor. He saw Harry throw himself to the ground behind the boy as a loud spell narrowly missed them, shattering stones on the floor beside them Then, to his horror, he saw a large, masked death eater leap down and grab Harry from behind, his hands around the boy’s throat.

Sirius vaulted desperately down the tiers towards them, but a faint sound instinctively made him look to the side just in time to see another masked man a few feet away, raising his wand. He spun round and blocked the spell, immediately sending another one back, but the Death Eater dodged. and with a crack, the blast hit one of the tiers, sending splinters of stone slicing into the air.

Spells flashed and crackled back and forth between them but Sirius gained the upper hand, and had the other man falling back. Trusting to his automatic reflexes, he glanced towards Harry, to see that the two boys had disabled the Death Eater who had now lost his mask. Fleetingly, he recognised Macnair, yelling in agony with a hand clapped over one eye and blood running between his fingers. Sirius gave Harry the briefest nod as he passed and concentrated again on his opponent.

From somewhere off to the side, another spell hit the Death Eater he was fighting, sending him flying to the bottom of the chamber and sliding across the floor to lie still at the bottom of the dais. Sirius looked over to see Remus saluting with his wand.  With a grin, he raised his own wand to his temple and ran back towards Harry.

Another Death Eater, this one unmasked, had spelled Harry’s friend into a helpless tottering tangle and now had his wand trained on Harry who was holding the glass prophecy sphere precariously in his fingertips. Sirius saw a face he recognised. Antonin Dolohov.

Terrified, Sirius thought Harry was finished but the boy just managed to shield himself from the worst of the spell that shot towards him. Dolohov lifted his wand again.

As if wings had sprouted on his feet, Sirius launched himself through the air, knowing that if Dolohov dodged in time, he would crash on to the stone tiers and almost certainly put himself well and truly out of action. But Dolohov was not expecting such an unsophisticated assault and Sirius knocked him sideways, winding both of them. Sirius panted for breath, aiming his wand, but Dolohov recovered his balance impressively fast, and blocked Sirius’s spell without difficulty. Gleefully recognising his attacker, he gave a sneering laugh.

“Well, well, Pretty-boy Black! Where’s your Protector now, Pretty-boy?”

Just a couple of weeks ago, the taunts would have sent Sirius into a blind, uncontrollable, unpredictable rage; but now the words bounced off him. He grinned, and Dolohov looked taken aback. 

“It’s not me that needs protection now, Antonin!”

He fired a disarming spell, but Dolohov parried and countered. Sirius leapfrogged to the next tier and blasted a stunner but Dolohov twisted away, raising his wand to slash downwards, then Harry shouted _“Petrificus Totalus!”_ and Dolohov, with an expression of dismay, stiffened in paralysis and keeled over.

Sirius leaped down to Harry. “Nice one, mate!” He spotted two spells flashing towards them from above, and put his hand on Harry’s head, pushing him out of the way, feeling the softness of his hair and the life beneath. So like James.

“You’ve got to get out of here, Harry! Bugger!” He ducked as a green flash only just missed him. He caught sight of Bellatrix dashing down the tiers and spotted Tonks’ motionless body slumped halfway up a row of seats.

“Harry - go!” He ran to meet his cousin. Jumping up on to the dais, he shouted _“Stupefy!”_ but his aim was off and it missed.  

She crowed with furious joy. “Oooh, Pwitty-boy Siwius! Come and get me Pwitty-boy!”

Standing before the stone arch, he was so close that he could hear voices coming from the other side of the tattered veil. He thought he heard James saying something. He wanted to stop, to listen; but there was no time. Bellatrix was aiming her wand at him.

It was like a game; they were children again, play-duelling in one of the long corridors of the house at Grimmauld Place. He laughed as he easily ducked a flash of red light.

“Come on, Bella, is that the best you can do?” He raised his wand to finish the job and. . .

. . . the voices changed and whispered _‘. . . blood; remember. . .’_                         

. . . and in the infinitesimal pause that accompanied the change from offensive to defensive spell, Sirius made the second worst decision of his life.

 _Bellatrix_ , he thought on impulse. _My cousin, my blood. She wouldn’t -_ Then her wand flashed again and his impulse was the death of him.

 _Is that how it happens?_ he thought in surprise, as his heart stopped and he fell backwards. Just a split second of hesitation. Something so easily avoided.

 _Remus_ , he thought. _Harry. James._

 

_Julia._

_I’m sorry._

 

 

 


End file.
